Some years, my mom made matching dresses for all the girls, herself included. I felt so beautiful and so special. Another year, she made candy cane striped pajamas, and I felt like I was straight from a storybook. Every Christmas morning, our stockings, which had been hanging around our wood stove for weeks, would be stuffed so delightfully fat with goodies. My mom would encourage us to eat some eggs and bacon, even though we’d all already started on our chocolates. I’d take a strip of bacon to appease my mom, and we’d all head into the living room and wait our turns to open our presents. My dad would always have his video camera in hand.

I remember driving home from Christmas Eve service one year. The earth was blanketed with several inches of fresh snow, and the chilly temperatures added a sparkle as beautiful as diamonds to the surface of the snow on the ground and on the trees. I remember one Christmas Eve at my Grandma Eyre’s house, singing Christmas carols. I remember her teaching us a Christmas carol, singing out the Latin chorus: “Venite adoremus, Dominum, Venite adoremus, Dominum!”

Magic.

I remember Christmas pictures in front of the tree every year. I remember us all posing in our Christmas outfits, and my dad setting up the camera, pressing the timer, and sprinting towards us to squeeze into the shot. I remember making salt dough ornaments, creating Christmas place mats from old Christmas cards, and Advent calendars. I remember Advent readings around candlelight.

But what added the most wonder to the season was simply this: witnessing my parents taking the time to make every year a celebration worth the effort and worthy of lasting memories, because it’s the celebration of something absolutely amazing—something we believe with all our hearts. God sent His Son to the world in order to redeem the world. And twenty-seven Christmases later, I still feel the energy, the wonder, and the joy in this season. It’s more than magic. It’s quite simply…

A Miracle.

“The Word of God became flesh and dwelt among us…”

Or perhaps they feel that way because we are so tiny. We are just a speck in a galaxy in a universe in the midst of a multiverse.

That just freaks me out.

Or they might find the forest peaceful.

I can only think of dirt and ticks.

The only thing in nature that comforts me is the ocean.

And even thatt freaks me out when I think about it too much.

Know what really amazes me? Really makes me know God is out there in the midst of this scary world and that He loves me? Other people. What we do and how we feel is amazing. It screams, “Creator!”

A friend posted this today.

When Rachel first heard this song, she said it made her think of me. How can music communicate in that way? When I listen to this song, it makes me feel toward my wife. What an emotion!

If there is no God, we truly are peculiar. We pray to a God who hides His glory. And we know He is there.

We wrestle with Him, and He comforts us.

We move our bodies to express feelings.

Or as Marcel taught us, ideas.

We create art.

In every form imaginable.

And these jokesters tell us there is no God. Excuse me if I can’t take this seriously. We create because we have been created.

But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God. - 1 Cor. 1:27-29

I read the book this morning and wrote a summary on Facebook, and I have been getting friend requests all day by people who have wanted to read it, so I am posting it here:

So I know some of you have spent some blog time and Facebook time discussing Rob Bell’s possible universalism. I just finished Rob Bell’s Love Wins for those of you who don’t want to take the time to read it. What’s he believe? What’s debatable? I’ll hit the big points. I also have 7-8 quotes from his book that I sent over from my Kindle. You can find them on my wall if you want to read Bell’s words.

1. Jesus alone saves. People are not saved by their belief or their works, but through Jesus.

2. God’s will will be done on earth as it is in heaven. The Gospel will transform the world on this side of heaven/Resurrection. (Bell is here strongly influenced by NT Wright’s Surprised By Hope.)

3. Hell exists, and people experience it by their free will both here on earth and in the afterlife.

4. The gates of the heavenly city are open, and people can come when they choose life instead of death. This also goes for those who have died outside of Christ. After death, we can still choose Christ. He leaves open the possibility that all will eventually leave Hell for Christ, but doesn’t think it likely because some will continually choose Hell.

5. Many who did not consciously confess Christ on earth, including those from other religions, will be with Christ in Heaven/Resurrection. They did well with what God gave them, and they will come to the Father through Jesus.

For most people, Lent is about what they have to give up. It is a season of monotony where we yearn desperately to wear our new Easter clothes and hunt for plastic eggs. But Lent is so much more. Lent is a special time, set apart by the Church, to accept the reality that we do just about everything we can to ignore, escape, and evade God. All the while, God calls us to die to ourselves so that we may live to Him. For the Church, Lent is a time in the rhythm of life in which we concentrate on dying to ourselves. We practice this self-denial through the Christian disciplines of repentance, meditation, prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. As we die with Christ each day, the goal is that the pattern of Jesus’ life—death to self—becomes the pattern of ours – that, like Jesus, we will journey into the wilderness and utter the words, “Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Mt. 4:4).

If we learn to slow down the whirlwind of life and realize its powerlessness over us, monotony will be transfigured into peace. Sadness will be transfigured into a realization that we must recover what we have lost, what is all around us and yet so distant—God’s presence.

Some of us choose to give something up for Lent, whether it’s chocolate, television, or some other luxury we normally enjoy. All of us should take on new or additional disciplines – like the traditional practices of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. The point of this is not to punish ourselves, nor is it to be “super spiritual.” The point is acknowledging that we must die—to live. Alexander Schmemann once wrote,

“We simply forget all this – so busy are we, so immersed in our daily preoccupations – and because we forget, we fail. And through this forgetfulness, failure, and sin, our life becomes ‘old’ again – petty, dark and ultimately meaningless – a meaningless journey toward a meaningless end. We manage even to forget death and then, all of a sudden, in the midst of our ‘enjoying life’ it comes to us: horrible, inescapable, senseless.”

And each time we fail, we realize that we have alienated and exiled ourselves from God. Drifting from God, we lose our joy, our soul, and our life.

We practice self-denial in both Lent and life because we know it leads to eternal life. Just as death is not the end, so too, Lent is not the end. Death ends in resurrection, and Lent ends in the festival of life – The Great Three Days (Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter) – where we celebrate that Jesus Christ has trampled down death by death.

In the past couple of years, I have come to a greater awareness of pain and suffering. This is not to say I had never experienced them. I come from a broken home—a drug dealing dad, a stepdad that left my mom for another man, a teenager when my mom married a black man in a mostly white, conservative town. I had trouble with my courtship of Rachel. I’ve watched my wife get abused by church courts. I’ve seen her lose all of her friends…twice. I’ve experienced deep tribulation from an early age, but for the most part, I came out above it. I came out positive and joyful. In the last couple of years, the tribulation has been less, but the pain has been more. I’m deeply wounded, and it has made me more aware of mortality. I’ve always been aware of my mortality; I’ve been rather obsessed with remembering the day of my death. In the last year, there have been very few “personal time” hours where I haven’t thought of my own death. But in addition to my own pain, I’m an empathizer. In less than two weeks, I’ve known four people who have died, visited another who is likely on her death bed, and learned of fatal illness in the lives of friends. The last couple of weeks have been filled with funerals, hospital visits, and trips to rehabilitation centers. All along, I’ve been attacked with the thought: “This is all meaningless. When you die, you die. That’s it.” I don’t believe that. It makes no sense to me. But neither do a lot of sensible things. I am caught with fleeing such thoughts, or dealing with them. As someone desiring to come to a greater self-awareness, I choose to deal with them. Those thoughts are not true. My blessed hope is Christ.

In the midst of all this pain, suffering, death, and doubt come St. Paul’s words: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith.” Both of the funerals I’ve recently attended were for 89 year olds. One was a veteran of WWII. His first grandson was born in the last year. One of my best memories of him was how proud he was to become a grandpa for the first time. He lived a very full life, but it was not easy. He fought the good fight. He finished the race. He kept the faith.

The other funeral I went to was for Rachel’s Aunt Billie. At the memorial service, we viewed several slides of her, and what I noticed is that she was smiling in every single one of them. She was so happy. But here was a woman who lost a son when he was 28. He husband died a few months later. Her other two sons never married. Her daughter is a liberal Methodist. None of her kids kept the faith. I would have a difficult time smiling. I have a difficult time smiling when I am blessed with faithful, healthy children. I am a burdened person by nature. I take on other people’s burdens. Aunt Billie never stopped smiling. The smiles didn’t stop with the slides. Every time I saw her, she was smiling. Her last words were “Going somewhere else.” She fought the fight. She ran the race. She kept the faith.

I have visited Dorothy in the memory care unity every week for the last year. She is the shining light of the unit. She is always smiling, always friendly. She is the only one that comes to worship with her own songbook. She wears gloves so that she can shake hands with everyone without getting the germs. She is so THANKFUL for visitors. This week Mary Lou is in the hospital. I cannot utter a short prayer without her slipping out of consciousness. Yet she is thankful that I’ve come. She is fighting tooth and nail. She can barely stay awake, but she’s running. She is keeping the faith.

Mary Lou can no longer move anything other than her arms. She really can’t use her fingers. She cannot even hold up her own head. She has no teeth, so she’s hard to understand—unless we’re praying the Lord’s Prayer or singing “Jesus Loves Me.” Then, all of a sudden, her voice is loud and clear. She’s not just fighting the good fight; she is dropkicking principalities and powers. Mary Lou can barely move, but she is not only running the race, but hurdling over demons. She is keeping the faith, and it is radiating warmth and light to those around her.

A friend’s father, Mr. Sutton, was recently diagnosed with ALS. My former pastor writes that he is “handling this better than any of us. We have been reduced to sobbing in our session meetings. When I have walked behind him in the processional, slowly to let him walk at his own pace, I have had to guard myself from being overcome emotionally.” He describes him as “the most gentle, the most humble, the most compassionate man I have ever known.” He is “actually leading his family and our congregation through these difficult issues with his own health problems. It reminds me in a way of Benjamin Morgan Palmer’s leading his children through their own deaths from the plagues of New Orleans in the 1800s.” Mr. Sutton is fighting the good fight. There is a 90% chance he is nearing the end of the race, and he is only gaining speed. He is adorning the faith with the glory of Christ.

And here I am. I’m on the battlefield, but I am looking for the medic. I’m running the race, but I need an IV. I’m keeping the faith, but I’m not sure how long this war is going to take. I know that I will have to give my life up. I am in the mess. I am under the shadow of the cross. I’m under attack, but I am shielded by Christ. I am being healed by the Great Physician. And I am thankful for those warriors who gave their lives and for those who are on the front lines. I am drawing my inspiration from them ever so slowly. I am putting on my armor. I am girding up my loins. I am tightening my helmet. I am beating my shield. And this really big sword is aching to shed some blood.

“Living in North America means that we are among the richest people on earth. How can we maintain a sense of dependence upon God’s provisions?”

I often struggle with my own lavish living. I say this not as someone who lives particularly lavishly by American standards. After paying our necessary bills, I think I’ve spent like $40 this month, and that was a trip to Pizza Hut and trip to a corn maze/pumpkin patch. I have to admit I feel every one of those dollars was worth it to see the joy on my children’s face, but most times I spend money, I am so disappointed with the results: “Mist! Mist! All is mist!” I feel very little joy in things other than prayer, praise, study, and service.

I heard Francis Chan left his church and wants to go to some foreign country and be poor and…whatever. Is that what total reliance on God looks like? I’m tempted; believe me. But is that the proper reaction? Or is it immaturity? Surely all are not called to poverty and this sort of “crazy love.”

In an interview, Peterson tangentially addresses these topics, and I think what he has to say is helpful:

“Do American Christians too easily assume their surrounding culture is Christian?”

“We do. It is useful to listen to people who come into our culture from other cultures, to pay attention to what they hear and what they see. In my experience, they don’t see a Christian land. If you listen to a Solzhenitsyn or Bishop Tutu, or university students from Africa or South America, they don’t see a Christian land. They see something almost the reverse of a Christian land.

They see a lot of greed and arrogance. And they see a Christian community that has almost none of the virtues of the biblical Christian community, which have to do with a sacrificial life and conspicuous love. Rather, they see indulgence in feelings and emotions, and an avaricious quest for gratification.

Importantly, they see past the façade of our language, the Christian language we throw up in front of all this stuff. The attractive thing about America to outsiders is the materialism, not the spirituality. It’s interesting to listen to refugees who have just gotten into the country: what they want are cars and televisions. They’re not coming after our gospel, unless they’re translating the gospel into a promise of riches and comfort.”

Do you preach to your congregation about this?

Yes.

How do you do that? I’m sure that’s not easy.

Well, I’m one of them. I live in the same kind of house they do. I drive the same kind of car they do. I shop in the same stores they do. So I’m like them. We’re all in this together.

It’s possible for a few people to break out of society and form some kind of colony in order to challenge society as a kind of shock troop. But that’s not my calling, and I don’t find it credible to use the language of separatism in a congregation where we’ve all got jobs, where we’re trying to find our place as disciples in the society and do what we can there. If I do that, I lose credibility. I’m using one kind of language on Sunday and another on Monday.

So what I have tried to develop first of all, in myself, is the mentality of the subversive. The subversive is someone who takes on the coloration of the culture, as far as everyone else can see. If he loses the coloration he loses his effectiveness. The subversive works quietly and hiddenly, patiently. He has committed himself to Christ’s victory over culture and is willing to do those small things. No subversive ever does anything big. He is always carrying secret messages, planting suspicion that there is something beyond what the culture says is final.

What are some specific acts of Christian subversion?

They’re common Christian acts. The acts of sacrificial love, justice, and hope. There’s nothing novel in any of this. Our task is that we develop a self-identity as Christians and do these things not incidentally to our lives, but centrally. By encouraging one another, by praying together, by studying Scripture together, we develop a sense that these things are in fact the very center of our lives. And we recognize they are not the center of the world’s life, however much cultural talk there is about Christianity.

If we can develop a sense that sacrificial love, justice, and hope are at the core of our identities—they go to our jobs with us each day, to our families each night—then we are in fact subversive. You have to understand that Christian subversion is nothing flashy. Subversives don’t win battles.

Eugene Peterson, The Contemplative Pastor: Returning to the Art of Spiritual Direction (Carol Stream, IL: Word, 1987): 16-19.

When we think about the Old Testament, we tend to think about the Law, or innumerable laws. But in the Garden, there was one Law. You would think it would be something like “Do not murder” or “Though shalt not kill.” But God’s first command is about food. Eat of the Garden, but don’t eat that tree. Of all ways to present man, he is presented as hungry. The whole world is his food, except that tree. Of course, he eats that tree and he knows sin. In order to save man, God kicks him out of the garden before he has the chance to eat the Tree of Life, being stuck in estrangement from God for all eternity.

Rather than growing in maturity, Adam reverts to childhood. The life of man becomes full of laws, especially laws about food. We can’t drink wine with God, like in all the other Ancient Near-Eastern religions. We can’t eat Passover in the Tabernacle. We have to eat it in our own houses, far from the presence of God. On top of that, man starts adding to God’s laws.

In Christ, we are delivered from those laws. In terms of salvation, those laws become human precepts. They are like food; they perish as they are used. The have the appearance of wisdom. But taking in clean foods does not make you clean. But life in Christ is different. The whole world is our banquet. This is a central image of what it means to be with God—Ps. 23, in the Tabernacle, Lord’s Supper, Marriage Supper of the Lamb.

We are commanded to eat the world and transform it into the kingdom of God. Ultimately the kingdom of God is people. The world is made for us, not us for the world. This applies to all things, not just food—sexuality, alcohol, drugs—they are good things if we take them and transform them.

But if we fix ourselves on food—earthly things, we will perish just like food.

Christ is the pot of meal and crude of oil that never perishes. He is the fishes and loaves that multiply.

The food laws point to this whole world—if you put your trust in food laws, if you put your trust in the wrong tree, if you put your trust in your body, you will perish like them. If you eat Jesus Christ, you live forever, for Jesus Christ is the Tree of Life (Rev. 2:7)

Life does not come from food. If you think Life comes from food, you’re an idolater. Health nuts tend to be idolaters (see my FB Note on Veganism for more on that theme). If you think Life comes from food, you are an idolater. In the Old Covenant, God mediated life through things in the world. But that mediated life always pointed to Christ. Dieting may be good on an earthly level, but dietary laws do not give Life and do not have any religious profit.

The only profitable food is Christ. Jesus said, Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him. As the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever feeds on me, he also will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like the bread the fathers ate and died. Whoever feeds on this bread will live forever.”

Your life is hidden with Christ in God: The world doesn’t understand what our life is about. If we look at ourselves in the mirror, we see decaying flesh and minds. We have life only when we look to Christ.

When Christ who is your life appears: When all is revealed, many “unsuccessful” Christian workers who have served their Lord will be seen as what they really are—servants of the King. This is an important message to the Colossians, who inhabited Podunk. And that’s the central message of the book: Look nowhere else, but to Christ, who is our life.

I think American Christianity is too concerned with emotions, but emotions are a personality thing, not a God thing. I’m an extremely emotive person; in fact, I lack self-control when it comes to my emotions. So in my previous post, where I talk about “anguish,” and “delight,” and “peace,” these are not necessarily the traits of the super-spiritual. In fact, anyone who knows me well would not use those words to describe me. Delighting in my faith is easy for me because I’m hyper-emotional, not super-spiritual. I think God wants us to delight Him, but I don’t think delight has to be natural. I think people often question their faith if they don’t have the emotions to go along with it. But I’ve met many who delight in spiritual things, but do not love God. They love their emotions. They love their delight. And that is a true temptation for those of us who are hyper-emotional.

As I am writing this, a song based on Amos 5 just came on, and I think the lyrics apply to what I am talking about:

I hate all your show and pretense.
The hypocrisy of your praise.
The hypocrisy of your festivals.
I hate all your show.

Instead, let there be a flood of justice.
An endless procession of righteous living.
Instead, let there be a flood of justice.
Instead of a show.
I hate all your show.

If you’re one of those people for whom delight is difficult, that doesn’t mean you love God any less. Love is not a feeling. I hope you know that, and that I’m preaching to the choir here. The Christian life is not about how we feel. It’s really about showing up every day and persevering to the end.

Finally, I think the liturgical tradition guards against emotions. This passage happened to be in my daily reading plan, and I think it speaks much wisdom. I leave you with it. It’s from Eugene Peterson’s book, The Contemplative Pastor.

What things do we learn in common prayer?

One thing we learn is to be led in prayer. I’m apt to think of prayer as my initiative. I realize I have a need or I am happy, and I pray. The emphasis is on me, and I have the sense when I pray that I started something.

But what happens if I go to church? I sit there and somebody stands before me and says, “Let us pray.” I didn’t start it; I’m responding. Which means that I am humbled. My ego is no longer prominent. Now that’s a very basic element in prayer, because prayer is answering speech.

Prayer has to be a response to what God has said. The worshiping congregation—hearing the Word read and preached, and celebrating it in the sacraments—is the place where I learn how to pray and where I practice prayer. It is a center from which I pray. From it I go to my closet or to the mountains and continue to pray.

A second thing about praying in community is that, when I pray in a congregation, my feelings are not taken into account. Nobody asks me when I enter the congregation, “How do you feel today? What do you feel like praying about?”

So the congregation is a place where I’m gradually learning that prayer is not conditioned or authenticated by my feelings. Nothing is more devastating to prayer than when I begin to evaluate prayer by my feelings, and think that in order to pray I have to have a certain sense, a certain spiritual attentiveness or peace or, on the other side, anguish.

That’s virtually impossible to learn by yourself. But if I’m in a congregation, I learn over and over again that prayer will go on whether I feel like it or not, or even if I sleep through the whole thing.

Introspection

I’m allergic to introspection. I guess I see what happens to a lot of Christians when they get overly introspective. They get filled with fear and doubt. I guess I just wasn’t interested. My journey with introspection began a little over a year ago when the whole friendship explosion happened. I mention it only to say it made me look at others differently. But the event also made me look at myself too.

Personality

In the months since, I’ve taken a few pastoral theology courses. One of the courses required that I undergo professional personality and spiritual gift tests. They didn’t really tell me anything new about myself. I’m driven. Determined. Good at speaking to large groups. Thrive in high-stress environments where others freak out. Don’t know how to relax. Always have to be accomplishing something. Have a sense of urgency. Cocky. Prideful. Disorganized. Impatient. Too loose with my words. While I already knew my personality, I have learned a lot about checking my relationship style when dealing with others…reigning in parts of my personality (still not great at it, but if you would have seen my original first paragraph, you’d notice I’m getting better). See, before the friendship explosion, I would repress those feelings. That’s a very different thing from checking them. Repressing made me feel grumpy, annoyed, lost. I was off-center.

Spiritual gifts

The spiritual gift portion of those tests stated faith, mercy, teaching, and prophecy are my gifts. The former two gifts I find invigorating. My personality type and my top two spiritual gifts are rare matches. I’m good at and enjoy empathizing, sympathizing, and just generally “being there” for others, but I also have to really check my tongue. You see the problem with my personality type/spiritual gift mix is I “tend to demand everyone display a caring spirit. [My] driving spirit can be seen as insensitive, when showing mercy is [my] motivation.” Hmm…yeah…sounds about right.

Dementia

One thing I do on a weekly basis is visit with and help lead a worship service for dementia patients. One lady says the saddest things sometimes. I mean, it’s likely the dementia talking, but she says these things that make it sound like she was watching someone drown. The pain and sadness are deep, even if it was not a real event.

Sadness

I’m a sad person. I don’t really have any personal sadness. I have such a peace about my own life. But I carry burdens and deep sorrow for others most of the time. Other people’s pain is hard on me. I feel it physically. I want to just give them the peace of Christ so badly. I mean, many are already Christians, but they’re not experiencing the peace that I know they can experience.

Grief

I lead a weekly Bible study for the elderly. It seems like someone they know dies at least every month. Sometimes two weeks in a row. Two of my attendees lost spouses last summer. I am a strong person, and the death of acquaintances brings me great sadness. I cannot imagine what it is like for those of weak constitution to lose someone so close to them.

Death

I asked Rachel how she thought people could deal with that, and she said she didn’t think people thought about it much. This week’s “Community” was on death. It played out what she said pretty perfectly. Abba Evagrius said to always “Remember the day of your death.” I do. I think about it many times a day, every day. It’s horrific. To have a single living soul ripped into two, a soul and body. To have to wait until the Resurrection to have a body once again, for Christ to make all things right. But I ponder it because 1.) It’s coming, and I hope to die well. 2.) It gives me a sense of urgency about this life.

Sobriety

I’ve definitely become more sober in the last year. A lot of things that used to give me joy just seem like such a waste of time. That’s not to say I don’t waste time, but much less. And what time I do waste does not give me the joy it once did. There is so much to do, and so little time to do it.

Stuff

Compared to a lot of people, we don’t own a lot of stuff. Rachel and I are both “minimalists.” But we do own some expensive stuff, and I’ve really come to hate most of it. It’s so freaking fleeting. Some of it I want to keep because of it’s usefulness for fellowship, but when it’s not being used for that, it seems like such space-robbing trash.

Christian Education

Our church started an ambitious fall program, and a result was an education hour before our service. I love to see how much my wife enjoys it. She doesn’t get to do a lot of stuff like that, and I can really tell how much she appreciates it.

Small groups

We’ve also started small groups. Listening to other Christians in that setting gives me a perspective I don’t carry around with me. This week we were talking about what was the most difficult trait to have when doing God’s will: Humility, Reverence, Delight, or Love. My immediate thought was humility, though I thought reverence and love were also hard. Over half the room chose, “Delight.” I was really, really surprised. Rachel, who knows me well, knew that I would be thinking that. My faith is such a delight. I could literally pray eight hours a day and then work a double-shift studying Scripture (and I would, if my wife allowed). I wouldn’t do it with humility. I would probably not be as reverent as I should be. And I would do the opposite of love when someone dared to interrupt prayer to fellowship with me….but there would be no shortage of delight. I guess I’m still trying to understand that.

Prayer

I have been really wrestling with my prayers lately, especially for a woman in my Bible study and a peer at small group. I’ve been in anguish for them. And it is such a delight.

Scripture

Reading through John this week, I’ve been amazed at the number of times I’ve laughed out loud. I just keep thinking, “How stupid! How could they not get that?!”

Malchus

I was listening to my brother-in-laws’ music today. They have a song called, “Mercy for Malchus.” I’ve heard it before, but I was really moved by it today.

Sleep

I need to get some.

One thing that I have noticed, is that there are certain folks for whom the collar is a help, and others for whom it is a hindrance, so we most likely need both around. I wear a tie most of the time. In Santa Cruz that is revolutionary. It has led to dozens of conversations. “So, what’s with the tie?” “I’m a pastor. Do you go to church anywhere?” We had a vandal spray paint across the front of our building, ‘quit wearing ties.’ Last week, I was preaching downtown from a corner and a young kid came up to me, blew smoke in my face and said, ‘what’s with the tie, I’ve never been able to figure out how to tie one of those.’ As I taught him a double windsor (which I explained was the knot that ladies prefer) I was able to talk to him about his nihilism and anarchist convictions, as well as explain why The Bible is opposed to Facism just like he is, and real rebellion against the man would be to quit being a secularist and start following Jesus.

The lack of collar has led to an ability for ‘sneak attack’ that a collar would prevent. I love all the collar stories, but we all know that there are people turned away as well. Those turned away that are being pursued by the Spirit, are often turned towards a pastor without a collar. If we are prepared to share the gospel, are caring for the people God has given us, and are taking opportunities that God opens up, then we will have more and more. So I pray that the Lord blesses the collared and uncollared with open hearted interlocutors, since we aren’t trying to convert anyone to the collar or away from the collar, but unto Christ. So please, keep the collar stories coming, just don’t think that any lack of collar is a lack of rejoicing to see the gospel preached.
—Jason Farley
Pastor, Trinity Covenant Church
Santa Cruz, CA