I've been thinking about this for a bit and thought I'd share here for if its helpful. I'm taking a course at U of M for my PhD program called Seminar in Communication Research. In the course we are exploring communication methods native and indigenous peoples have utilized to claim dignity and reclaim a sense of culture amongst their own tribes--particularly in the realm of education but in other areas as well.

We are tasked not with writing a research paper to publish but keeping a Decolonization Journal. In this journal we wrestle with our understanding of our own Colonial heritage, how its disrupted (a polite term) native peoples' lives, and how we see things we have not seen before. 

I may share some from my journal in the coming months but, honestly, its more intense and challenging than a research paper. For now, I want to use some posts to share with you some native and indigenous musicians, poets, and writers I think will serve us all well to hear. It may be because they just have great music (which they do) or because they have insights from which we may all benefit. If nothing else, I'd like to give a platform as best I can to voices and tribes Eurocentric folk in previous years attempted to exploit or erase in various ways. So, to actively de-erase a culture in some way, I'll shine a little spotlight on on some big voices in the coming weeks.

To begin: the multitalented Kalyn Fay.

I don't know how my research led me across her music but I'm so glad it did. She is Cherokee and has musical roots in Tulsa, OK. Her Bible Belt album is all I could ask of an Americana album. Honest, robust, story-whisked and stirred. I don't want to say much about her as just offer a favorite song with which to start and then you can take it from there. 

From Bible Belt I hear someone who may be processing from whence she came, perhaps a relatable sentiment for us all, with a full awareness of white and Cherokee cultures fully at the table. Its a song that'll transport us all into reflection and dang it sounds pretty.

Bible Belt is from her most recent full length album. However, she has another album called Good Company coming out very soon.

Lastly, Here's a video I just stumbled upon of her discussing her art and navigating identity. It's worth a gander.

As I give myself to writing again I've decided to write about what already is happening in my life. Its a busy season so there is not time to go seeking new ventures about which to write. And since there are books, songs, events, and whatnot I fall in love with every mundane minute I will occasionally share about them--particularly if I don't think enough know about those things. 

Chris Slaten's stage name is Son of Laughter. He wraps stories in musical notes and offer these gifts to willing appreciators. I first heard his newest album "No Story is Over" over a year ago while driving from Memphis to Middle Tennessee--a four or five hour drive. I downloaded it before accelerating toward the wedding I'd attend later that day. I pressed play and listened all the way through. Got gas--listened through again. Ate lunch--gave it another spin the last leg of the trip. 

There is so much to say about so many of the songs but I will keep it short today and nudge you to listen to the first song which I'll link here. The song is called Voting Day. It has all the Paul Simon you could wish for with all the relevance our current political and religious climate necessitates. It manages to avoid  preachy-ness but definitely preaches well. It weds gospel and folk--two musical forms historically suited to addressing injustice which it meets with tangible hope.

This song manages the impossible call to pledge allegiances wisely while invoking foot tappin' fun. It is subversive all-the-while folk-pop joy. AND, it does all this in 2 minutes 10 seconds. Well done Chris. Our world needs such a song in such a time as this. 

Give it a listen.

Jesus, the person many pledge our allegiance to, as an infant found himself and his family slipping out the back door of their homeland due to a tyrant king's violent threats. They made their way down to Egypt where they dwelt until it was safe to return to the vicinity of home. They settled on Nazareth instead of Bethlehem to be on the safe side. I wonder what would've happened to their family in our current climate if they sought refuge here.

Moses, a son of Abraham who found himself taken in by the oppressive powers that be, was separated from his mom to keep him safe from those powers. I wonder how that might have played out in our current climate.

Father Abraham and his wife— before the many sons part of the story—felt the danger of wandering as strangers seeking a land, stability, and a promise fulfilled by their God. They were so scared they lied about their relationship status. He claimed Sarai was his sister—and was thus separated from her for a season—due to the danger of openly expressing to the powers that be during their wanderings they were indeed married. I wonder what would have happened to them in our current climate.

At a certain point an Israelite, maybe even Moses, penned a certain ancient holy text with the exodus story in particular in mind. It reads:

“33 “‘When a foreigner resides among you in your land, do not mistreat them. 34 The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the Lord your God.” Leviticus 34:9

I wonder what the ancient Israelite who penned those words might think of our current climate.

But perhaps more at the core of our faith, in our very 10 Commandments, an ancient Israelite, maybe even Moses, wrote:

8 “Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. 9 Six days you shall labor and do all your work, 10 but the seventh day is a sabbath to the Lord your God. On it you shall not do any work, neither you, nor your son or daughter, nor your male or female servant, nor your animals, nor any foreigner residing in your towns.”

I wonder what the Israelites, along with the foreigners residing in their towns, would think of our current climate.

I wonder what Mary would think as she hears of children living in facilities separated from the mom’s and dad’s who love them.

I wonder what Jesus would think of the politicians who say the Bible says to keep the law when so much of what Jesus did defied the norms and at times the laws to display the spirit of the law. Or would he just point out this current practice is neither law nor order.

I don’t know all the answers to what their thoughts would be but I do wonder—enough to write it down and ask others to wonder as well. Not really to answer on my post—just ponder it in your heart. I don’t expect someone who does not claim any loyalty to the Torah or Jesus to have to ponder these questions. But I see them sensibly asking why don’t folks who do claim loyalty to the Torah and Jesus appear to be considering these things.

So I hold the questions out for us to ponder. This is not one on which I really solicit thoughts or comments (of which those of a disrespectful tone will be deleted)--just imagination work for those who claim Abraham as a father and Jesus as Lord. Imagine sitting across the table Joseph or Jesus himself built—perhaps with carpentry tools Joseph brought back from Egypt while in hiding—as Mary the Israelite requests of you, “Tell me about those foreign families in your land.”

Clearly this shooting is cussing awful. Just evil. And we want to throw our hands up. And maybe there will be no movement on gun control legislation in our lifetime and my friends are likely all across the board on what that should look like. However, that's not where this is headed. So for a second lets put all that volatility on the back burner and try to do something radical--dignify people. Here is my challenge to myself and an invitation to you.

By my math (which is admittedly pretty weak), there are 26 days left in November if you count today, Sunday, November 5, which corresponds to 26 fallen congregants in TX. We all know that words are worse than sticks and stones and may lead those they wound to pick up a gun and unleash his pain on a church, movie theater, or the like. These wounds are inflicted when someone intends harm or when they use words without thinking of their power.

So for 26 days I want to use my words more intentionally and with an awareness of their power. I want to select 26 people and for 26 days say something to one of the 26 which is intentionally dignifying, empowering, healing, or loving.

Would you do the same? Can you let 26 people know over the next 26 days you're affirming them, encouraging them, praying for them, love them, are there for them? Choose folks you love and are like and take a chance and say it to folks who're different than you or with whom you have strained relationship.

Of course, if you believe in gun law reform, go forth and speak to your senator or whatever government rep you so desire. This does not nullify that discussion and shouldn't. However, you CAN do something clearly impactful in your sphere of influence over the next 26 days. Maybe this won't change a law but it may lift a spirit, tender up a hard heart, mend a broken relationship, and maybe, just maybe, reroute the anger of a would be future violent man or woman toward loving community.

This is a way I choose to meet this current darkness. I want to give in to anger and cynicism but know it just won't do much good for others and will eat me alive. So I'm going against my emotions and choosing this instead. It'll take some intentionality to send a text, send an email, or say words of affirmation in person. Yet it's one intentional way of resurrecting life in community from the death which has inundated us on this dark news night. Hopefully it'll honor them and offer the opportunity for others to know dignity and love.

Join me if you will. #SutherlandSpringsLife ​

She grabbed bags and packed them with a set of clothing for each of them—her husband, child, and herself. She swiftly packed away burp cloths and diapers while her husband filled the canteens with water and scraped together the money he had from his jobs building tables and shelves from the lumber he stored behind the house. They left out the back, through the alleyway, and away from the village with a quietness matched only by the darkness in the evening air.

Each step away from the village was a step closer to safety even if it meant leaving the world they knew--hopefully for only a short time.

Their nation's leader was a man who lived in fear of those who may challenge his power. He had heard rumors of potential emerging rebels whose very presence could make less of the king’s power. So he gripped his status more firmly than ever and doubled down his resolve to extinguish any who may pose a threat. He unleashed a fury of violent activity and many in the capitol city rallied to his authoritarian push to stifle rumored rivals or anyone who questioned his policy.

In this instance, in a town not terribly far from the capitol, there was a child who created whispers near and far. It was said his very presence implied a possible assault on the throne. For this reason, the king sent his armed men to hunt down the would-be rebel child. So the boy and his parents ran into the unknown with tears on their cheeks and little more than the clothes on their backs.

The husband could’ve stayed home. The boy wasn’t technically his child after all. However, he had committed to be the child's father when he married her. He led them stealthily through perilous terrain. Thieves lurked and the elements could be unkind. They had a limited amount of supplies and the child, being such, needed to be led on as quickly as possible to a place that could provide some form of stability. Stalling for any period of time on making it to safety was not an option. Otherwise, who knows what would happen. For that matter—who knows if the mom could keep a healthy enough mental state to nurse or provide for a child while on the move in such unsteady surroundings. Their trip necessitated expediency.

Thankfully, they arrived in a land not impossibly far from home and found haven there. Irony of ironies—they left a place which should have felt like a promise land and laughed, in their moments alone, acknowledging their new home was the land of their ancestors’ slavery. Their fathers were sure to mention this season of slavery at many mealtimes and holiday get-togethers. Now it was their place of freedom.

Here they were, in an unlikely location safe from a tyrant of unchecked neurosis. This tyrant, in fact, slew the lives of other children from the town who shared a similar age to secure his throne.

The family stayed in the foreign land for a while. It was not their home but their lives found purchase there while they waited out the ravaging of of their homeland. When news came to them the tyrannical leader passed they found their way back home as soon as possible.

As the boy matured, the mother and father made sure at dinnertime to share the story of the time when they were forced from their home and ran for their lives into a far country. The boy remembered those stories from their time away; the strangers who were hospitable to his parents in their foreign land; the old lady who offered his mom fabric for his clothes; the man in the community who shared tools with his dad so he could work. And as he grew in wisdom and stature and the like he always took note of those who didn’t fit into their surroundings. He practiced hospitality to those who felt ostracized and unsafe. In fact, he sought them out.

His parents' stories touched him in a way that profoundly shaped his professional career as an adult. He became something of a celebrity in certain regions of his homeland— known for his way of reframing common assumptions in his public lectures. He did and said risky things in the name of the stranger, the outcast, the outsider.

He understood the risk his very presence caused his own parents and how it displaced them from a life they might have otherwise chosen. He understood the radical hospitality they experienced—by former oppressors of their people no less. His presence challenged particular kingdoms who gripped too strongly to their own national power. He inspired an international movement of radical hospitality partly because his own early years involved a mom and dad who experienced welcome in a land which opened its borders to them in an hour of need.

In 2003 my wife and I moved to Japan.

We were Junior High School Assistant English Teachers (AETs) in Mito, Japan two ours northeast of Tokyo.

Many who knew us then or now usually assume we were missionaries moving to live a pious missionary adventure. I was, at the time of our move in late summer 2003 in seminary and doing ministry at a church in the Memphis area.

The truth is I went to Japan because I didn't know if I believed in God. For a then seminarian on a trajectory for a life of ministry this was not "good for business." 23 year old me (I'm now 36) needed space away from faith expectations and wounds to come to grips with who he was and who God was, if He was at all. One way to do that is to move to the other side of the planet and be away from any expectation to think one thing or the other.

While there my coping mechanism for culture shock a'plenty on top of a mid-20s faith crisis became running. I was not a runner before arriving in the Land of the Rising Sun. However, running became a quick way to release language learning stress, first year teacher Stress, faith crisis STRESS!

Near our apartment was the third most beautiful park in all of Japan. Cherry and plumb blossoms set the scenery ablaze each spring with glowing white and pinkish blooms. I often jogged up a small river trail which fed out into the path around the trail.

The aforementioned cherry and plumb trees were a strong motivation in Japan's magical spring bloom decor to get off my faith-crisis-havin’-duff. You see, one of the most complementary aesthetics in Japan for a faith crisis is an unexpectedly early sunset each day in the fall and winter months. Our first year this alone felt like a physical weight upon me as the dark evenings bore down upon us before we left our schools everyday at 5 PM.

The closest thing to light there in the evening during those months was those blazing trees along the streets and paths of Mito City.

One other thing I should mention about Japan is, at least in our city at that time, almost no road or street had street signs. This made locating your intended destination complicated. Luckily, there was always a 7-Eleven or other such conbini as a marker in the same way us Bible Belters have churches and Walgreens.

That said, I began really listening to U2's musical library while there. I had no idea early on three of the four members loved the same Jesus I was doubting. However, the The Joshua Tree was the first gospel album I heard which I had never seen in a Gospel section at the music store.

The first song on that album blew me away every time I heard it. It is a song called "Where the Streets Have No Name." The first few lines Bono belts are:

I want to run, I want to hide,
I want to tear down these walls that hold me inside,
I want to reach out and touch the flame,
Where the streets have no name.

I didn't expect someone whom to my knowledge then a mainstream and secular artist to so firmly capture me with such intensity about running into the presence of the Creator I had moved half way around the world to consider discarding--really sing something so compelling to me then a skeptic.

Something about The Edge's guitar and Bono's gospel lyrics lit up my heart previously darkened by doubt and darkness, both spiritual and physical (remember the whole "no sun after 4:30 PM" thing I mentioned earlier).

One spring 2004 evening running through the streets that had no name and around a trail by the lake I sat down on a park bench under a plumb tree in full bloom--nearly on fire with colorful flame like Moses's burning bush. I played Bono's gospel song as I gazed upon that tree. As Moses had known God's presence in that burning bush centuries ago I, for the first time in a refreshingly long time, opened myself to the fiery presence of the Creator at the feet of that plumb tree. He was there, he was a blazing beautiful presence!

Bono doesn't know me. The nearest I've been to him was purchasing tickets to see U2 live in Memphis when I was 16 only to sell them to pay for a speeding ticket. And then, ten years later, I got tickets to see them at the Tokyo Dome in 2006. My wife, two other friends, and I extended our visa past the expiration of our work visa to see them. And then they cancelled! I'm not bitter Bono...except I totally am.

One thing I know, however, is I owe a great deal of my love for music and the Messiah to Bono's gospel album which gave me words to say I still hadn't found what I was looking for but also gave voice to my deep yearning to reach out and touch the flame where the streets have no name!


[Originally posted on Mitchell Roush's site.]

She grabbed bags and packed them with a set of clothing for each of them—her husband, child, and herself. She swiftly packed away burp cloths and diapers while her husband filled the canteens with water and scraped together the money he had from his jobs building tables and shelves from the lumber he stored behind the house. They left out the back, through the alleyway, and out of the village with a quietness matched only by the darkness in the evening air.

Each step away from the village was a step closer to safety even if it meant leaving the world they knew--hopefully for only a short time.

Their nation's leader was a man who lived in fear of those who may challenge his power. He had heard rumors of potential emerging rebels whose very presence could make less of the king’s power. So he gripped his status more firmly than ever and doubled down his resolve to extinguish any who may pose a threat. He unleashed a fury of violent activity and many in the capitol city rallied to his authoritarian push to stifle rumored rivals or anyone who questioned his policy.

In this instance in a town not terribly far from the capitol there was a child who created whispers near and far. It was said his very presence implied a possible assault on the throne. For this reason, the king sent his armed men to hunt down the would-be rebel child. For this reason, the boy and his parents ran into the unknown with tears on cheeks and little more than the clothes on their backs.

The husband could’ve stayed home. The boy wasn’t technically his child after all. However, he had committed to be the child's father when her married her. He led them stealthily through perilous terrain. Thieves lurked and the elements could be unkind. They only had a limited amount of supplies and the child, being such, needed to be led on as quickly as possible to a place that could provide some form of stability. Stalling for any period of time on making it to safety was not an option. Otherwise, who knows what would happen. For that matter—who knows if the mom could keep a healthy enough mental state to nurse or provide for a child while on the move in such unsteady surroundings. Their trip necessitated expedition.

Thankfully, they arrived in a land not impossibly far from them and found haven there. Irony of ironies—they left a place which should have felt like a promise land and laughed in their moments alone acknowledging their new home was the land of their ancestors’ slavery. Their fathers were sure to mention this at many mealtimes and holiday get-togethers.

Yet, here they were, in an unlikely location safe from a tyrant of unchecked neurosis. This tyrant, in fact, slew the lives of other children from the town who shared a similar age to secure his throne.

The family stayed in the foreign land for a while. It was not their home but their lives found purchase there while they waited out the ravaging and danger of their homeland. When news came to them the tyrannical leader passed they found their way back home as soon as possible.

As the boy grew, the mother and father made sure at dinnertime to share the story of the time when they were forced from their home and ran for their lives into a far country. The boy remembered those stories from their time away; the strangers who were hospitable to his parents in their foreign land; the old lady who offered his mom fabric for his clothes; the man in the community who shared tools with his dad so he could work. And as he grew in wisdom and stature and the like he always took note of those who didn’t fit into their surroundings. He practiced hospitality to those who felt ostracized and unsafe. In fact, he sought them out.

His parent’s stories touched him in a way that profoundly shaped his professional career as an adult. He became something of a celebrity in certain regions of his homeland—perhaps known for his way of reframing common assumptions in his rhetoric. He did and said risky things in the name of the stranger, the outcast, the outsider.

He understood the risk his very presence caused his own parents and how it displaced them from a life they might have otherwise chosen. He understood the radical hospitality they experienced—by former oppressors of their people no less. He realized his presence challenged particular kingdoms who grip too strongly to their own national power. He inspired an international movement of radical hospitality partly because his own early years involved a mom and dad who experienced welcome in a land which opened its borders to them in an hour of need.

For the last six or seven years I've become a bit of a promoter and event organizer. It began with having Andrew Peterson at the University of Memphis in 2011 while I was a campus minister there. I realized there is power in physical proximity to singers performing songs they birthed out of no small creative effort. As I became more comfortable with organizing these events with various artists and venues I began to wonder if it may be time to attempt bringing in my favorite Christmas show: Andrew Peterson Presents "Behold the Lamb of God.

In the summer of 2012 I began contemplating what that might look like and discussing the idea with others. Eventually the stars aligned and with the help of our ministry and some good friends, more than a year and a half later, I organized Behold the Lamb of God for December 2013.

After the 2013 show, my friend Eddy and I discussed at various times what it might look like to bring the tour back to Memphis. I was hesitant for a while because of the amount of work the first go-round was for a novice event planner. However, after taking a job at Harding Academy where there were great resources for promotion, organization, and brainstorming it seemed like a good next-step. At this point I should also give a shameless shoutout to an initiative Eddy started called The Institute for Faith the Arts since the artists on this tour well represent what IFA hopes to produce in our students.

You may have thought this essay would be about what I learned from the lyrics of the Behold the Lamb of God album, and I assure you, I have learned a great number of things about incarnation from that album. However, this is about what I've learned about God from planning the event itself.

I want to first say organizing this event is doable! The agency that plans the tour for the bandmembers is incredibly helpful and driven to share the the incarnation story through this event. They are helpful in all the helpful ways! And, the bandmembers are the kind of people with whom you'd like to hang at a coffee shop and talk books and music and beauty and broknenness for a few hours.

However, successfully birthing an event of this magnitude takes planning far, far in advance. For me it takes a couple of years to get my head slowly but surely around what it could and should look like. There are logistics of where to put coffee and merch and "Are there enough bathrooms in this place?" and "How many people can we reasonably expect?"

There is the matter of how to pay for the event. Do we get sponsorship? Do we hope ticket sales will allow us to break even?

Promotion. How will we get the word out? Post it on Facebook? Ad space on a radio station? Posters in coffee shops?

How much can we fairly charge for tickets if it is a fundraiser for a ministry or organization in which we believe?

Where will we host the band comfortably when they arrive to make sure they stay healthy? What food do they need? Any allergies of which we should be aware?

As you can see there is a lot to consider and it takes a great deal of time to work out. It got me thinking about God and things He took a long time to plan and work out. So Paul says in Ephesians 1:

3 Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. 4 For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love 5 he predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will-- 6 to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves.

And then Peter chimes in with this in 1 Peter 1:

He was chosen before the creation of the world, but was revealed in these last times for your sake.

And one more from Paul back in Ephesians 2:

10 For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

All of the goodness, graciousness, and kingdomness we experience now is in no small way part of plans or God's inception and incarnation from years, centuries, and millenia or thoughtful consideration and gritty execution. God is intentional in his planning and executing of the goals he desires to accomplish. Grace is not accidental or simply whimsical. It is, in the best sense of the term, calculated. He considered the cost of time and energy and, more importantly, blood, sweat, and tears to accomplish his goals.

I get a small glimpse of that experience when I participate in the long-term planning of something I think beautiful, good and worth-the-while.

When Andrew and Co. lay down there last line consummating all the threads of the incarnation story of which call the crowd to "sing out with joy for the brave little boy who was God and made himself nothing" I know the effort was worth it because I love being in the presence of the song and story.

When God sees his work completed I can now imagine in a slightly clearer way what joy he must feel with a mission accomplished.

"Hallelujah. Sing hallelujah."

Father,

May those who call you Savior and Lord honor you as Lord and Savior above all others on this historic day in our nation.

May those who desire to live out your character in this world...

• Show kindness to the foreigner and immigrant at our table whether or not the powers that be in our nation decide to do so.
  
• Show compassion to the fatherless and the widow whether policies are in their favor or not.
• Love our enemies whether they are blue, red, or green; elephants or donkeys; Republicans, Democrats, Libertarians, Green and may we pray for their well being and that we both are drawn farther into truth.
• Call for justice but not haughtily invoke it.
• Acknowledge that yours is a kingdom which refuses to hold fast to the borders of our nations but reaches hands across to all countries and continents.
• Know that America is a country rich in history and diversity but also tarnished and wounded by not dignifying many moments and people
• Love people from conception to grave regardless of our differences with their creeds, colors, cultures and the like.
• Pray for and honor our leaders of all political leanings and nudge them toward your heart and mind.

Our citizenship is dual but if we must choose one may it be yours where sight for the blind, freedom for the prisoner, healing for the sick, and proclaiming good news exist and invades all empires and kingdoms with your goodness.

Thank you for the beautiful country in which we live. Help us remember, however, that you created its Rocky Mountains and Mississipi River and that its ours to care for and not control for selfish purposes. Its ours to share but not exploit. Thank you for its rich forests, deserts, beaches, gulfs, islands, and inlets.

Amen

There are days I don't want to go to church assembly on Sunday morning. Occasionally I've had a draining week at work. At times the weather is gorgeous and I want to play outside. Sometimes there are just people I don't want the "die to myself" experience of sitting in the same room with because he, she, or I have wounded the other. Other times I just doubt faith in the promises of blessing in community and would rather go it alone. And yet, for the most part, I do assemble and am, for the most part, blessed, challenged, and transformed by being the same room with people trying to figure life and love out each week.

Today I want to begin a smattering of ponderings on assembling together to do a couple of things. The exploration is partly selfish in that it will help me flesh out for myself what often, but not always, subconsciously overrides my desires to forsake the assembly. I know for some this may sound like strong or antiquated language. Maybe it is but I may eventually explore why it seems an adequate and realistic notion to discuss when I desire to "forsake the assembly."
 
I also want to explore the topic because there are people with whom I miss being in spiritual community--who have opted out of assembling with saintly sinners for a variety of reasons. Some are likely valid reasons. However, I want to explore the genius of community for myself and for those whom may find it useful in order to reaffirm it for myself and to perhaps welcome others into that experience through one sojourner's eyes. I do NOT, however, desire it to be a guilt trip for myself or others. This doesn't seem helpful in my experience of pastoral and evangelistic ministry. But I also want to explore the possible deficiencies of living a solo life away from some form of assembly Please don't assume I have a specific communal form I'm discussing at this point. I have certain forms of assembly which have resonated more or less with me but that's not yet something I'm exploring.

Finally, I suspect there are some at weekly assemblies who may need an occasional breather from assembling as well as those who've checked out far too long who miss the blessing of showing up in all the potential messiness of the endeavor. Maybe this will give some word to where you are along those lines and what you, and I, can do to have a time of refreshing to that end.

For today, though, the only thing I'll say is that the church is the bride of Christ. You can't love me without loving my wife Rachel. It would be difficult to love Jesus without loving his bride as well. Of course many of us have bride-baggage with the church. An unfair judgment uttered toward us. A confrontation given in a poor spirit. Being taken advantage of by people in powerful positions in church offices. Its clear how that love of his bride plays out isn't always clear because his bride has some ugly moments. And yet it seems no one is more personally aware of or affected by them than her husband Jesus.

This won't likely be a consistently rhythmed series that comes in once a day or week. It will likely come when it can as time or thoughts allow or step forth in my brain. However, I wanted to get the ball rolling today.