To Kick or Not To Kick

There’s an ebb and flow to my sports viewing habits. Even though the Bengals tragically lost our starting quarterback to a season-ending injury this year (it still hurts), I watched far more NFL than in the past. Perhaps it’s because the daughter now enjoys watching along with me to discuss X’s and O’s.

Watching this year’s NFC Championship game, I was pulling hard for the Detroit Lions. They had never progressed to a Super Bowl, but after storming out to a 17-point lead, it almost seemed an inevitability. They actually led by 14 facing a fourth down on the 2 yard line with just seconds before halftime and the coach pensively decided to kick a field goal to secure three points.

It was this action right before halftime that made the second half so peculiar. After a few fluke plays, the San Francisco 49’ers had gained momentum. The Lions responded by moving the ball into Niners territory, but when facing a 4th-and-short situation, instead of kicking the 40+ yard field goal, Coach Dan Campbell left his offense out there to go for it. They did not succeed.

Later in the fourth quarter, after the 49’ers had stormed back to tie the game, Campbell once again faced a 4th-and-short situation and, true to his nature, tried for the first down; the team failed to execute.

As the Lions lost the lead and were now pushing for a comeback, Fox commentator Greg Olsen tried to excuse Campbell from any potential critique. He cited that analytics and statistics made the decision to go on it for fourth down the only logical choice. He even made the statement, “you can’t judge the decision by the outcome.”

The Lions lost.

Other NFL-types were pretty critical and I was too.

It’s easy for me to dissect when my favorite team didn’t even make the playoffs, but I think this incident allows us to consider our views on risk and probability. It’s been quite the conversation in professional football. Just this season, NFL coaches have started to opt for the two-point conversion when behind by two touchdowns. This has irked many football fans because kicking the nearly automatic extra point would put the team down by 7, rather than missing the two-point conversion and trailing by 8. But the statistics have shown that teams have a high chance of converting 50% of those two-point conversions. Additionally, two teams this year won games in the fourth quarter by employing the “go-for-two” technique.

Statistics don’t lie. Yet sometimes, they mislead.

We are in a data-first era, where we believe we can reduce mistakes by playing the statistics. To be sure, I’m grateful we’re arriving at this point. Rather than rely on gut instincts and heuristics, we’re now looking to make more educated decisions. But while this can be beneficial, it doesn’t mean it’s perfect. Data doesn’t relieve us from making hard decisions.

Too often, we use stats as an excuse to mitigate risk and eliminate our need to make a bold decision. It’s why many voices have emerged to praise Campbell, saying that he made the intelligent choice, even though the outcome worked against him. This exposes the potential stumbling block when adhering to data-only thinking. It’s fine to play the percentages, but in the end, if the percentages prohibit you from winning, you aren’t immune from criticism.

Admittedly, Lions players had moments to execute in big situations that might have made Campbell look like a genius. In sports, small singular moments (like surrendering a big play after the football ricochets off a defender’s facemask) have massive impact.

Yet the longer you watch and play sports, the more you realize that it just isn’t fair. The best team doesn’t always prevail. It’s why I would never gamble on sports. As long as it’s played (and officiated) by humans, strange things will happen.

I’m very much a moderate. I’m not saying that analytics should be ignored. Instead, we mustn’t surrender the tough decision just because probability says otherwise.

The leadership takeaway for me is that there are moments when bold leadership is more important than playing the percentages. Ironically, in this game, the most daring decision would have been the safer one. Yes, statistics and probability are helpful, but there’s always the outlier. If you come out on the losing end, it won’t matter if you made the logical choice.

Violent Delights . . . Violent Ends

A year ago our city was tethered to plight of Damar Hamlin, the Buffalo Bills player who required CPR during Monday Night Football . I wrote some of the following the night of the game but was hesitant to publish it not knowing how he’d fare. Now that we’re one year removed and he even played this past season, I feel like I can now offer these thoughts.

Among the many questions raised about the incident was concerning football itself. Media outlets wondered if the sport is just too violent. What does our fascination with football say about our country? Is it just to brutal to be truly enjoyable?

My personal journey with football is a winding road. I loved it as a child and a teen, but landed on soccer as my sport of choice. I continued to watch both college and pro but, after witnessing undeniable brutality, as well as grappling with the reality of too many retired players dealing with traumatic brain injury, I’ll admit that my once unquestioned love for the sport began to wane.

Yet this all changed a few years ago when our daughter told her mother and I that she wanted to play football. Her high school team needed a place kicker and, as a soccer player, she was able and excited to play. While we were a little cautious at first, she had a good first season. Even though she took a couple of hits when blocking broke down, I was never really concerned for her safety. She was the first female to score in the history of her school’s varsity program.

Things changed in her second season. She wasn’t getting as many reps kicking so she started practicing with the linebacking core. Since the JV squad lacked depth at that position, she had the chance to get playing time on defense.

I honestly didn’t know how to feel about it. At least at the JV level, the pace of play was slower. But seeing her receive her first forceful block from an offensive lineman made me shudder. Afterward, she bounced right back up and lined up for the next play. By the end of the season, she had played about thirty snaps. She was part of two team tackles and nearly made a solo tackle (needed to go for the legs).

In her final season, she played JV linebacker again. She started a few games and, against a much bigger lineman who had no qualms about blowing up a chick in shoulder pads, she only lasted a couple of plays. While the conclusion of her career left us with precious memories, the Hamlin incident left me thinking about this whole experiment my daughter has undertaken. I love her for being so bold but I can’t be naïve that she could get hurt in this conquest.

In the end, we fans of the game would do well to value player safety higher than we currently do. When the helmet-to-helmet hit is penalized, I should do more than hope my team is on the benefiting side. Football is a wonderful sport, but it is truly brutal. The long-term health of its participants should always carry more weight than wins and losses.

We Were Young

Kelly and I lost a dear friend this past week.

We actually lost three friends to cancer in just seven days’ time. All were too young. All left grieving family behind.

But Dalea Badami was the closest of these to us. We were the best of friends in college as Kelly was roommates with her and I roomed with her soon-to-be husband Jason. I might never have pursued a second date with Kelly had Dalea not patiently asked me about my hesitations; wisely, she knew there actually weren’t any, but that I’d have to figure it out for myself how perfect Kelly was for me.

They stood beside us as we were married and we were inseparable in our early-to-mid twenties. Despite living in different time zones, we always found time to connect and talk. The first vacation Kelly and I took after our honeymoon was to visit them in Texas.

We married so young.

But we were blessed to have each other. The four of us essentially grew up together, finding our footing in this world in unison.

When we learned of Dalea’s passing, Kelly went through photo albums and pulled out pictures of our intertwined lives. Remembering the moments we shared brought gladness to my heart. But it simultaneously brought regret.

In recent years, we drifted apart.

To be sure, this wasn’t negative—there was no conflict between us—we just nestled in to our own lives in different places. Through social media, we were able to watch each other’s families expand and grow up. We’d find small opportunities to meet up every few years and could pick right back up with ease. But even those windows diminished as our kids grew into young adults.

Because of the pandemic, the four of us haven’t been in the same room together in quite a long time. We are thankful that Dalea exceed by multiple years the amount of time doctors originally allocated for her, providing her additional precious moments with her family and friends. But we were still devastated that we were unable to be with her in these hardest of days.

Sadly, I’m not that familiar with the woman that Dalea became. She changed immensely over the years, but I didn’t get to see that happen. How was she different from the woman we once knew when we were young?

Her passing brings about another personal heartache that won’t be easily shaken: a longing for what once was and that which will never be again; the tugging that we should’ve cherished it more.

Old photographs are the very best . . . and also the very worst.

Pictures force us to consider paths not taken.

There’s a lament that accompanies the passage of time. We’re forced to acknowledge that the world spins faster than we can grasp. Nothing ever stays the same. We cultivate nostalgia—and some of us prefer living in it—because we choose to hold on to that which was in favor of what might be.

My reflection here is self-therapeutic but I’m pretty sure other people need to hear it as well.

We mustn’t dwell on missed opportunities.

No doubt, I’d pay a fortune to relive just one of those days we all had together in the 1990’s. And I do wish we had done better to stay connected over the years. But I’m most thankful that we had those moments in the first place.

Growing old and facing loss forces us to consider how we’ve lived. We cannot, however, live in regret for not being able to do it all. We’re not promised time here on earth. We’re just asked to make the most of what we’ve been given.

The time that Jason, Dalea, Kelly, and I spent together decades ago made us; it forged us into the people we are today. I get to remember Dalea even before she was a wife and a mother and also while she was in the very first days of those journeys. In reflection, this was the greatest blessing. And due to the space we didn’t occupy, others were able to take advantage of our missed opportunities to get to know her better. I’m profoundly thankful for the many that were blessed to walk along side her as she hit her stride in her later life.

And now, all those journeys have given way to the best one yet . . .

We were young once. We had all the time in the world. But one day, time will be no more and we will no longer worry about what we’ve missed. It’s why I cherish the words of the apostle Paul who urges us to, “forget what is behind and strain forward toward what lies ahead . . . to press on for the goal of the prize of God in Jesus.”

Grieve for what was lost but give thanks for what was given. We will be young again.

In recent days, I haven’t been able to shake the following hymn of faith from my mind. This George Jones version (full disclosure: we really liked country music back then) allows me to reminisce fondly on those times we spent together.

I have heard of a land, on the faraway strand
'Tis a beautiful home of the soul
Built by Jesus on high, there we never shall die
'Tis the land where we'll never grow old

When our work here is done and the life's crown is won
And our troubles and trials are over
All our sorrow will end and our voices will blend
With the loved ones who've gone on before

Never grow old, never grow old, in the land where we'll never grow old

A Change is Gonna Come

““Take your Bible and take your newspaper, and read both. But interpret newspapers from your Bible.” ”

— Karl Barth, Time Magazine, May 1966

The above quote from theologian Karl Barth (or at least a simplified variation) has inspired me for decades. My continual pursuit of thought content is driven by the ideal that “all truth is God’s truth” and that followers of Jesus should not be ignorant of the world. Our dedication to Scripture must be the lens through which we view the world around us.

This motivates me to read diverse material. It’s why I continue to publish my Thought Thread. It’s why I view every day as a learning opportunity.

In recent months, as I’ve digested content, I’m sensing a shift. There’s something different going on. Beyond the uncertainty of global politics, volatility in finance, tech, and business are far less predictable as of late. I figured the pandemic would bring this about; you can’t pause the world without repercussions. The wise among us projected that the pandemic was an accelerant, but that was likely too simplistic a prediction.

We’re on the verge of change.

And to be clear: I have no idea what that will be.

To be sure, a prediction like this—one that’s ambiguously prophetic—is typically useless. Does it really matter if something’s coming if we don’t know what it actually is? Yet I’d suggest that in our emergence from COVID, with everyone waiting for the return of normal, this observation is critical. We aren’t returning to once what was. What lies ahead is new and we’ll be forced to adjust or get left behind.

If you have conservative leanings, you might reject this perspective. After all, at its core, conservatism approaches any change with skepticism so change is often cloaked in negativity.

But even if you lean progressive/liberal, you might have concerns. What if the future is actually a dystopian past, à la Handmaid’s Tale?

But we don’t have to face an uncertain future while tethered to our preferences. Even (or especially?) people of faith should be OK. Flexibility and contextualization are concepts fully compatible with Christianity. We can adjust. Even when the times change, our essentials do not.

It’s why I appreciate Barth’s observation above We’re merely called to engage the changing landscape while viewing it through eternal lenses. In times like these, Jesus’ counsel to “watch and pray” is perhaps the best bit of advice. It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t respond, but it’s not yet clear what exactly we would be responding to.

A Change is Gonna Come.

COVID, Broadway, and the Future of Church

As we all continue to consider our post-pandemic reality, a random announcement from this past week is worthy of a second look.

Phantom of the Opera will end its Broadway run in early 2023. I’m not necessarily a big fan of Broadway (writing this as, ironically, my wife and mother-in-law are in New York City for a couple of days to see a few shows) but this announcement made me a bit sad. Twenty-five years ago, my wife and I went to a regional performance of Phantom on our first date.

Based on a novel published in 1909, Andrew Lloyd Webber’s 1986 musical was inspired by tall tales about the Paris Opera House. It isn’t the most compelling narrative, but Webber’s phenomenon characterized the resurgence of 1980’s Broadway. It remained so popular that the show will wrap up its run at 35 years—with nearly 14,000 performances. For anyone who’s visited NYC in recent decades, it’s bewildering to consider that Phantom will no longer be a Broadway offering.

Interestingly, the musical that will now claim the longest running Broadway show mantle is Chicago, which surpassed 25 years in its run. While Chicago doesn’t have the same grandiosity as Phantom, it has some attributes the allow it to continue on as the rest of Broadway struggles. There could be some lessons church leaders can glean from these ships passing in the night.

STORY
Admittedly, I’ve never seen Chicago in-person (I have watched the 2002 movie) it’s a low-key compelling story with suspense and intrigue. It has a solid score and consistent humor that’s compelling enough to keep even people on the periphery interested. Conversely, while I hold some nostalgia about Phantom because it was my first date with my wife, the story is pretty dumb. Decades later, I’m still not sure I think deeply about any of its characters. As a musical, Phantom relies more on the massive experience than it does a compelling narrative.

COST
Truth be told, this is why Phantom is closing. It’s a spectacle (massive orchestra, special effects, and even pyro), making it expensive to produce. Chicago, however, is far more efficient (one set, few costume changes, and minimal orchestra), which provides a more compelling return-on-investment. Even if ticket sales are down coming out of the pandemic, it’ll be able to meet its budget.

NOVELTY
Phantom is Phantom. You see it because it was something you need to see. Yet even though I’ve seen it multiple times now, I can’t recall any viewing being that much different. On the other end of the spectrum, the producers of Chicago has used casting as a means to raise additional interest. While its lead roles have featured Broadway veterans, they’ve utilized a cadre of A-list celebrities (Patrick Swayze) and even C-list celebrities (Wendy Williams) to keep the public talking about it. So even if you’ve seen the musical before, seeing Billy Ray Cyrus as Billy Flynn might make you consider going again.

TAKE AWAY
In short, the differences between these two shows should remind church leaders to reconsider our views of entrepreneurialism and sustainability.

While Phantom of the Opera had a successful run for decades, I doubt someone will want to finance shows like this moving forward. Spectacle has its place, but I’m not sure it will be maximized in the theater. Instead, creativity will be key. It’s why I’m curious to see how Hamilton fares as its star fades. Ultimately, I think it has a fighting change because it’s an efficient show that could follow in the footsteps of Chicago.

There’s a difference between getting something started and seeing something continue. And this is what we church leaders need to consider.

Last week, I had what has become a “Groundhog Day-like” conversation with a leader who told me about their plans for a new podcast. I minimized my sigh while reminding them that anyone can start a podcast, but not every podcast really needs to exist.

Even though church leaders love starting new things, we must be mindful of our stewardship of resources. Sure, you might have a massive idea that needs major investment to impress the masses, but will it really work in this new culture?

The era of church planting and multisite expansion encouraged leaders to be more enterprising. This is good. Yet in the post-pandemic, as contexts change at breakneck speed, our strategies of sustainability will become most challenging. Desire alone won’t impact kingdom expansion. Instead, those leaders that first consider the long term viability of initiatives will be best suited to find success . . . 

. . . and all that jazz.

The Story of Three

“Three points and a poem”

This is how pastors were once taught years to structure their sermons. While it was mostly a joke, my first homiletics (preaching) professor in seminary—a distinguished man in his late 60’s—instructed me and my classmates to always do just this.

Due to my rebellious nature as a younger man, I balked at the three points system. I’d often write sermons with one, two, even five points to demonstrate my non-conformity.

But over the years, I’ve become a massive fan of the triad. In fact, I consistently aim to group concepts into three’s as it’s the easiest way to recall information. With my daughter on the cusp of adulthood, I’m in the prime of dispelling life-lessons (#dadlfacts) and deliberately organize my musings into three points of easy-to-remember aphorisms.

I ultimately moved to submit to “the three” through a chance encounter with a peculiar couple.

Almost twenty years ago, Kelly and I led a small group at our megachurch. It was a “thrown-together” group with folk from completely different backgrounds in the congregation. One of the older couples, Ron and Faye, stood out. She would arrive to Bible study dressed to the nines, always wearing a dress as if it was a formal party. He would show up in an old polo shirt and wearing a sun-faded baseball hat. Over the weeks, we learned more and more of their life story and, with every layer of new info, I was both shocked and intrigued.

In the midst of one of our small group gatherings, she began a sentence by saying, “When I was coaching Liberace . . .” 

What? I had her repeat it, thinking I misheard her. Millennials and younger might need to use the Google to discover the identity of this dead celebrity, but the idea that Liberace was coached by anyone, let alone Faye, was a surprise itself.

“Do you even play the piano?” I asked.

“Oh, not that well. But I didn’t need to. I was helping him visualize what he needed to do to be a better performer.”

At that moment, I was ready to take the Bible study off the rails. As I mined deeper, Faye told me about her academic work.

“I have two PhD’s. Over the years, my research revealed that any task, no matter how complex, can be distilled into three action items. I coach people how to figure out the three.”

I had so many questions, but I could tell that no one else in the group was as interested as I. While we moved on to more spiritual matters, I cornered Faye and Ron once Bible study was over.

“So three things, huh? It really works?”

“In every situation,” Faye responded. “We make this world too complex. If we just simplified everything, we’d live much more fulfilling lives.”

“It’s how I structure my golf lessons,” Ron chimed in. He had shared his vocation a few weeks earlier; apparently the worn-out polo and hat were his uniform on the golf course. Ron used his wife’s triad methodology to help teach golfers to play the game.

“Everyone thinks golf is hard, but it’s really not. All you need to do is three things: hit the ball, if you slice it, turn your hands over sooner, if you hook it, turn your hands over later. That’s it.”

I had more questions about this golf methodology than Liberace. I had so many questions but not nearly enough time.

“Just simplify your life, Steve,” she summarized. “Everything is about three things. Find those three and you’ll be successful.”

And then they left for the evening.

They actually stopped coming to the small group after that. I’m not sure I ever talked to either of them ever again.

I was intent on finding a copy of Faye’s dissertation but never could. Our interaction took place in the early days of the internet so, every few years, I’d try looking online again. I never found it. It was as if it never existed.

And it might not have. In the following months, Faye had some unfortunate interactions with people at church. She apparently started yelling at a Sunday school teacher for how they were teaching her grandkids poorly. Since I got along with her, I offered to intervene but, ultimately, Faye and Ron left our church. I know he passed away almost a decade ago. I’m not sure what happened to her.

Whenever I’m dispelling dad lessons and grouping things into three, I occasionally think of Faye.

Maybe she was crazy. Maybe it was all made up. But three works for me.

Finding a Good Coffee Shop

Since I travel a lot, I have to be proactive about maintaining my rhythms while on the road. One of my essential considerations is starting the day with good coffee.

You can call it an addiction. I call it staying alive longer than you.

The problem is generally that modifier: good. It’s why I rarely drink hotel coffee; I might as well be drinking Folgers. Nor will I accept Dunkin as good. This is my quandary whenever I’m traveling in New England as Dunkin is as plentiful as air. At least I know someplace up there where I can find a good cup . . .

And don’t get me started on Starbucks as good. It’s chaotic evil.

While this leads me to search out smaller coffee shops, I’m sometimes disappointed. I’ve discovered a fair share of places that are posing. They claim to be superior to fast-food java but they’re truly no better.

I don’t mean to insult these businesses: at the end of the day, if they can turn a profit, more power to them. But as for me, if I’m going to spend to pay a premium for artisanal coffee, it must be good.

On the road, my quest for a morning coffee place starts the night before. I search Google maps for options then apply a process of elimination. I’ve told it to so many people, I finally decided to write it out.

Three warning signs in the search for good coffee:

1. The coffee shop doesn’t disclose the beans they brew
Good coffee starts with good roasted beans. If an establishment won’t disclose this up front, I’m wondering if they’re hiding something.

2. The coffee shop offers flavors
Whenever I see various pumps of flavor infusion, I’m even more leery. You brew good coffee. Flavor pumps just mask over deficiencies; you might as well leave some Hershey’s syrup out on the counter.

3. The coffee shop doesn’t serve a cortado
My friend Chris, who also travels extensively and is an even greater coffee snob than I, used this as his good coffee barometer. I’ve adopted his measurement. While the cortado is a relative new comer to the American coffee scene, it’s popularity is now significant enough that any respectable coffee establishment will serve one.

To be fair, just because a coffee shop violates one of the three standards, it doesn’t mean they can’t serve good coffee. Sometimes I’m in a remote area where I have to pull the trigger on a 1/3 establishment. The odds here run about about 50%.

If I’m forced to try a 2/3 place, I’m already resigned to disappointment. Here, it’s only a 10% chance that I’m drinking good coffee that day.

If it’s a 3/3 I’m not even trying. I’ll swallow my pride and resign myself to drinking a flat white from Starbucks.

A man got to have a code.

My Boston Marathon Experience

There’s a joke where you ask, “how do you know if someone is a marathoner?”

The answer: “don’t worry. They’ll tell you.”

This is a reflection of my experiencing running the Boston Marathon. As much as I soaked up the entire day, I feel obligated to write down the experience so it doesn’t fade from memory.

THE BIG PICTURE
In case you hop into this recap with out knowing much about the race, I’ll start with the context. The Boston Marathon is the most prestigious marathon in the world. It’s been run over 125 years and is the loftiest goal for any serious long-distance runner. It’s a one-way course, starting 26.2 miles outside the city in a town called Hopkinton. It meanders through seven different communities before arriving in downtown Boston. Patriot’s Day, the date of the traditional running of the Boston Marathon, takes place the third Monday in April. Local kids are off school for Spring Break and the Red Sox usually have a game that starts in the late morning. It’s an unofficial holiday in the region, meaning tens of thousands of spectators line the course.

Boston is best known most for its qualifying standards. With nearly all marathons, you simply register or win a registration lottery to participate. With Boston, however, unless you connect with a local charity to raise money for them, the only way to get a race bib is to earn it. I’d suggest that this creates the attractiveness of the race. In recent years, as more people have applied, qualifying standards have become even more daunting.

Even though I’m a solid runner now, I had to train extensively to earn a qualifying time back in fall 2019 in Indianapolis. I tell people that qualifying for Boston was the most challenging physical feat I ever performed.

Running Boston is a bucket list for any marathoner and that’s why it meant so much to me.

DAYS BEFORE THE RACE
Unfortunately, Patriot’s Day coincided with Easter weekend this year. As a result, the ladies didn’t accompany me and I went solo. Navigating around the city during the marathon is challenging enough so, while I missed their presence, it was probably best they couldn’t attend. They both thoughtfully made me encouragement notes.

I flew into Boston on Friday afternoon. There’s a free bus into the city from the airport that dropped of just 300 yards from my hotel. The bus was packed with runners and their families but, beyond the shoulder-to-shoulder ride, it was rather convenient. I ended up guiding a family from Indianapolis to our hotel.

My plan for the weekend was to hit up the Expo on Saturday (the day when I would do the majority of walking), and take it easy on Sunday before the Monday race. I still went out for a walk Friday evening (about 4-5 miles) just to keep moving.

I could tell then that my right foot was going to be problematic. The week of the race, I overexerted myself but didn’t think it would matter. I was wrong. By Saturday morning, I could tell that I was hurt. I self-diagnosed a slight case of bursitis in my heel. I’m pretty sure walking almost ten miles on Saturday didn’t help, but the adrenaline of the weekend was starting to kick in.

My hotel was closer to the harbor, about 2.5 miles from the finish line. I had to pass by the end of the course on the way to the Expo so I finally got to see Boylston Street set up for the finish. I couldn’t stop grinning. I had a random family take my picture at the finish line. Even though I arrived at the Expo fairly early on Saturday, the crowds were crazy. Picking up my packet was easy while buying licensed gear was chaotic. Hundreds of people were crammed into the tightest of spaces.

Here I’ll offer my biggest complaint about this whole experience: the gear Adidas made for this year’s marathon was lackluster. I desperately wanted a traditional blue/yellow Boston shirt/jacket. Yet this year, they decided to use light purple and florescent green as accent colors; there was nothing with just the iconic Boston colors. I’ll eventually get over this but I think I’ll always be somewhat bitter that these marketing gurus couldn’t get this one thing right.

I still bought a few shirts.

I took the scenic walk back to the hotel but by the time I made it back in the mid-afternoon, my foot was in serious pain. I stopped by a Trader Joe’s, bought some food, and hunkered down for the night. I was planning on going to a local church for Easter services, but shifted to watch our Echo Church services online instead. I spent all Easter Sunday nervous about the next day. Ultimately, I knew nothing was going to keep me from finishing, but I was unsure of what I could accomplish on a bad foot.

RACE MORNING
I slept well Sunday night. I woke up at 5am (normal for me on marathon days) and was out the door at 6:30. It was about a 45 minute walk to get to the location of the bus pick-up in Boston Common. I did research about all this process but the only thing I overlooked was bag drop off. When I’m running the Flying Pig in Cincinnati, I never drop off a bag. But here I knew I’d need supplies post-race so I prepared one. While I assumed the bag drop off would be right with the buses, it was actually a couple of blocks further away. I wasn’t sweating it. My bus slot was 7:30 and my start time was 10:25. I thought I’d be fine. But the buses were late. And then, when we finally started driving, our bus driver got lost on the way out to Hopkinton.

I thought the delay was odd. While we were waiting, a guy next to me told a story about the previous year, when his bus got lost. Then, when another lost bus arrived, some of the people there were telling stories about lost buses in years prior. I found it fascinating that organizers would help the bus drivers with specific directions.

Even though we made it to Hopkinton just15 minutes late, the bus dropped us off on the opposite side of town. I had to walk another 1.5 miles on my bad foot just to get to the check-in center.

They also advertised that their would be food at the check-in center. While there were porto-potties and water/Gatorade, I couldn’t find any food at all. Since I last ate at 6:15, I was nervous that I would be under fueled for the run. That, plus my foot, made me a bit nervous.

They called my group and I walked back into town to my starting corral. At this point, I recognized the area surrounding the starting line. It was so familiar to me after years of watching Boston starts on the television.

I hadn’t run since Wednesday, so I was unsure how my foot would react. But I really didn’t care. I was standing at the most famous starting line in all of running. It was sunny and the weather was in the high 40’s/low 50’s. I had this.

THE PLAN
Since this was my 25th marathon, I had a pretty detailed plan set out.

1. Remember the big picture. I already registered to run the Flying Pig marathon in two weeks; it’ll be my 12th in a row, so I want to keep that streak. I trained well in January and February, but my training waned in recent weeks. An unusually hectic travel season meant I missed a couple of long runs so I wouldn’t have the stamina to run two fast races within two weeks. So I decided to set a realistic goal of a sub-four hour race.

2. Start out slow. This is something that everyone advises about Boston. The course has an overall elevation drop and the first few miles of the race are almost entirely downhill. The temptation is to start fast. Having done so in multiple marathons, and knowing how it can hurt you at the end of a race, I repeatedly reminded myself to watch my pace in the first five kilometers.

3. Take the Newton Hills. At mile 16, there are a series of four hills, culminating in the historic Heartbreak Hill. Since I run in Cincinnati, I’m practically a maestro of running hills. More than anything, I vowed to take every hill without walking.

4. Soak it in. While I might make it back to this starting line some day, this could be the only time I run Boston. Just in case, I would focus more on the experience than my finishing time.

THE RACE (BEGINNING)
I had a solid qualifying time for my age, so I was near the front of the second wave out. At the gun, I just started running. I mentioned that it was downhill from the start, so I struggled to gauge how my foot was holding up. I was able to run on it without pain, only slight discomfort.

My biggest concern was the pace. My running watch can sometimes be off, but I kept looking down to see that the pace was far too fast for me. Additionally, it’s an incredibly tight course at the beginning. I was hit multiple times by people trying to fly past me. I essentially had to tuck my arms in for the first couple of miles to avoid getting hit. I would nestle in behind someone going slower but, when they saw the crowd around them, they’d speed up. I knew I had to find my own pace.

I pushed over to the far right side of the road, where the asphalt would turn to gravel and dirt. Out of Hopkinton, it’s a bit more rural so there were few spectators on the edge. Despite this far right position, there were still people flying past me on the outside. It stayed like this for almost the first ten miles of the race. Even though it was slightly distressing, seeing so many people fly past me, I was still confident in my strategy.

I mentioned my lack of food but, fortunately, there were random spectators handing out things like oranges slices and licorice sticks. For the first part of the race, I ate anything anyone handed me. Days later, I haven’t felt food poisoning, so chalk about another victory for me.

After those earliest miles, as I kept my turtle pace, I found myself close to the spectators. So many kids had their hands extended for high-fives but my group was pushing hard and didn’t seem interested in engaging with the crowd. Since I was slower, and occupied the edge, I started giving high-fives to everyone with an outstretched hand. Without a doubt, I have never hit hands with more people in my life. It’s tough to give a high-five during a race, especially to kids; you don’t want to hurt them, so you just let your hand glide by behind you. I cherished there enthusiasm. And in the middle of all this, I got to see Spencer, the official dog of the marathon.

I don’t remember much more about the start of the race. I was trying to stay calm, encourage the crowds as they were encouraging me, and maintain a steady pace. Even through mile ten I thought I was going too fast. Eventually, I remembered that my foot had been hurt, but it was holding up well. I knew that I could finish the race, even if my goal of sub-four hour run wouldn’t materialize.

THE RACE (MIDDLE)
Approaching the halfway, I felt confident. I could tell I trained sufficiently enough. Before the race, I had memorized the order of the towns on the way in (Ashland, Framingham, Natick) so I’d check them off my mental list every time I hit the town limits. I was still giving high-fives as I entered into Wellesley and started to hear a roar.

Wellesley College is an all-girls school and they’re known for their scream tunnel, as the students line up to yell at the top of their lungs. It’s also known as a spot where runners occasionally stop for a kiss from a student; many even had signs requesting a kiss. Being happily married (and also questioning the tradition in an era of #MeToo), I felt the high-fives were a sufficient exchange.

Up ahead was the town of Newton, the aforementioned location of the hills. Knowing the challenge that loomed ahead at mile 16, I spent miles 14-16 trying to slow down my pace. Here the course starts to descend before the hills, so slowing down was more challenging than I anticipated. As runners started flying past me, I prepared myself for the enjoyable hill run in my running career.

The first hill is a long one. I attacked it with vigor, perhaps even speeding up from my standard pace. As I neared the top of the hill, I started passing a couple of walkers. I nailed it.

The second hill was forgettable. Apparently it was steeper than the first, but I’m not sure I could tell. I pushed through this too, and the amount of walkers increased. After cresting, I first felt fatigued. I mentally prepared myself that the third hill would be the most challenging. I was only halfway through the hills, and I needed enough in the tank to still take Heartbreak.

Predictably, my pace slowed for the third hill. I never stopped running, but gravity started pulling at me. This was the hill where the walking of my fellow marathoners was most noticeable. Since everyone knew Heartbreak was ahead, those who were exhausted took the opportunity to walk. I felt like a snail but I still passed people.

Finally, I found myself at the foot of Heartbreak Hill. It might have been the easiest of the four, if not for its length (half a mile), its location on the course (twenty miles in), and the fact that there were three hills right before it. Knowing this is the hill run of my life, I pushed with everything I had Very few people were walking here, buoyed by the crowds who fully understood the meaning of this moment. It was so loud. They begged runners not to give up.

There’s a banner hovering over the street at the top of the hill. That became my sole focus. Eyes fixed, head up (the key to hill running), I pressed toward the top. I was actually passed a couple of times here by other runners feeding off adrenaline.

At the top, I briefly lifted my hands in triumph, knowing that one of my goals was achieved. I took the hills.

THE RACE (END)
After the peak at Heartbreak, I used the slight downhill period to rest. But at the hill’s crest, I immediately felt a fierce wind in my face. There was a strong headwind coming from the city that made a pleasant fifty degree day feel cool; the wind was a wall slowing me down. I didn’t care much for this win and, when combined with the exhaustion, I knew these last five miles would be an absolute grind. I had little left in the tank. Missing out on some long training runs in March cost me here.

To cope, I used the following water stops to take a breather. Early in the race, I was drinking only Gatorade to try to build up carbs. At the end, I was thirsty and drank 2-3 cups of water every stop. At the end of each water line, I’d walk while drinking two cups. When I was finished, I’d start running again.

Moving from Brookline into Boston, the crowds began to grow. People started seeing my name on my race bib and encouraging me by name. While I spent the first part of the race trying to inspire spectators with high-fives, I spent the final part of the race feeding off their energy. I never had such an experience in my previous marathons. I took out my headphones so I could fully hear the crowds.

I was planning on skipping the water stop at mile 23 but I was so thirsty. I knew I needed one more stop. As I took my waters and walked it out, there were four college guys who implored me to run.

They yelled, ”you got this! You don’t need to walk!”

I responded, “last water stop, boys. I’m onto the finish line.”

I gulped my water, tossed the cups, and started running again. The four of them yelled “STEVE” as I ran off. I gave them a thumbs up in the air.

The iconic Citgo gas sign was finally in my sights. I knew Fenway Park was right next to it, so I finally felt close. On previous visits to Boston before, I’ve been in this Kenmore Square area so I started recognizing streets and landmarks.

One Commonwealth Avenue, I saw the “one mile to go” sign. Looking at my watch, I knew I’d hit a sub-four hour race (actually sub-3:50) so I actually slowed down. This is counterintuitive for marathon runners, and I started getting passed a lot. But I couldn’t care less. This was the finish I dreamed about for years and I was content to live in the moment instead of worrying about the clock. I knew I executed my race plan.

I couldn’t stop smiling.

I made the two most iconic turns in marathon lore: right on Hereford, left on Boylston. I could finally see the finish line and felt the energy from the crowd assembled along the course. I was exhausted so my focus on pushing through almost kept me from absorbing the moment. A few tenths of a mile out, I through up my arms and kept my thumbs up. The crowd was boisterous and they carried me home.

My finish was 3 hours, 48 minutes, 17 seconds.

I finished in the bottom 30% of male participants and in the bottom 25% of my age group. Percentage wise, that’s probably the worst I’ve ever performed, even though it was my 11th fastest marathon. But I laugh at those stats. I really can’t be bothered. I have a Boston finisher medal.

IN THE END
It was obviously an unforgettable day. Every marathon is challenging, but the suffering was most enjoyable.

At the moment, I don’t see myself trying to qualify again any time soon. I proved to myself that I could do it and, frankly, I don’t feel motivated to try. I’ll keep running the Flying Pig every year, and might try a few more when the kid graduates high school, but I’ll hold off until I age into a new qualifying bracket. If I can stay in shape, I won’t have to attain such a low qualifying time.

Now, I look forward to new challenges designed to keep me from complacency. Don’t worry; I’ll tell you.

Why I Run

In just three days, I’ll complete my 25th marathon. Even more noteworthy, I’ll hit this milestone at the Boston Marathon—the most prestigious road race in the world. It took me three years and five attempts to qualify for the race. I had to earn the right to run twenty-six miles through the streets of Boston on Monday. I can’t believe it’s finally here.

I never intended to run this much. What started with a simple physical challenge (to see if I could run a half marathon) snowballed into my running 2-3 marathons a year.

Despite over a decade of pursuing this hobby, I never seem to have a suitable answer for why I do it.

Mostly, I tell people that I run to stay in shape. Obviously there are limitless ways to keep healthy without running dozens of miles each week. Still, I appreciate the marathon because it rewards persistence. You run hundreds of miles over the course of months just to prepare for race day. You can’t fake this race. It demands consistency and that carrot at the end of the stick is what pushes me . . . and keeps me healthy.

But one of the reasons for my running pursuits is something I’m always hesitant to share.

A few years ago, I read an interview with a professional runner. She was asked what the most accomplished marathoners have in common. I remember her answer still today.

She responded, "the very best marathon runners have mastered the ability to suffer."

See, the human body can handle distances from ten to twenty miles fairly well, provided the person is in some semblance of shape. But once you go beyond that twenty mile distance, the body begins to break down and the athlete encounters atypical pain. This is why consistent training is important: for distance runners; with the proper preparation, a runner is able to push through the pain the appears at longer distances.

It ain't easy, no matter how prepared you are. But that’s the challenge of running 26.2 miles. You push your body through temporary hardships to see how much you can endure.

Marathons are essentially people paying race organizers for the opportunity to suffer.

I don’t share this to sound masochistic, but it’s one of the reasons I like the marathon: it hurts. There are few areas in life where we embrace the suffering. It’s part of the human experience, but one we tend to avoid.

Perhaps this is on my mind because I’m writing this on Good Friday. Christianity’s view of suffering is complex. I took a graduate course in Buddhism years ago where I studied the cessation of suffering, one of the religion's Four Noble Truths is. And yet within my belief system, I believe that the Creator of the universe came to earth in human form to endure unspeakable horrors for the sake of humanity. Followers of Jesus aren’t called to pursue suffering, yet neither are we to expect that it will cease in this life. Ultimately, we’re called to understand that it comes to us all, even to the very Son of God.

On this day, I admit that my “light and momentary” troubles lead me to, “fix my eyes, not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.”

Is Napoleon Dynamite a Brilliant Movie?

This time of year is brutal for runners like me in the Midwest. My solution to the challenges of winter weather is to get a quality treadmill, hook up a TV, and distract yourself while getting miles in.

On shorter treadmill runs, I’ll watch documentary content; I have the ability to concentrate for about 45 minutes. But for anything longer, I need something mindless. I gravitate toward movies I’ve seen before to both distract and entertain.

Prepping to run 12 miles on the treadmill a couple of weekends ago, I didn’t plan ahead for my viewing choice. The first thing recommended for me in the Amazon video app was the movie Napoleon Dynamite. I clicked play and started my run.

But something happened the longer I watched. The running distraction left me completely focused on the film; I noticed the visuals and the nuances of the dialog. About two-thirds of the way through, I started to ask myself a peculiar question:

Is Napoleon Dynamite actually a brilliant movie?

I might say . . . yes? I spent the past couple of weeks thinking about this. While that’s far too long s time to linger on a pointless subject, I reached my conclusion. I’m not saying it was Academy Award worthy but Napoleon Dynamite was far more thoughtful than I ever gave it credit.

THE CHALLENGE OF GENRE
If I asked you to describe the type of movie Napoleon is, you’d likely quickly respond with, “dumb.” Try and determine where this movie fits and you’ll most likely group it with those “high school comedy” style of films. The 1990’s saw a revitalization of this genre, with Napoleon a slightly less-raunchy take on the 1980’s Porky’s-type movie. It’s a far take from another 2000’s high school flick American Pie.

In a way, the movies of Chris Farley and Adam Sandler were contemporaries of Napoleon, but most similar in my mind was Jack Black’s Nacho Libre; all mindless comedies that were a tad edgy but generally wholesome. Kids could watch these movies with their parents without experiencing awkwardness.

Ultimately, since Napoleon Dynamite belongs to this family of movies, we tend not to think deeply about it. In no way would we consider it art.

THE EMPHASIS ON VISUAL
Watching this movie on the treadmill (with subtitles on, by the way), I was surprised that I was actually pulled in by the visuals. The cinematography is subtly captivating. They take a dated Idaho town and find a way to make it look retro-chic. A few examples of how they framed scenes illustrates this:

Even the color palette was well thought-out. This is something conspicuously absent from other frat comedies—thoughtful framing. The effort already places Napoleon ahead of its contemporaries.

THE SUSPENSION OF TIME
Think about when this movie takes place. It’s hard to tell. Everything seems dated—from technology to homes to vehicles. Songs played at the school dance are from the mid-80’s and the fashion couldn’t be much older than the early 90’s. If you’re too young to recall, DVD’s, CD’s and cell phones were prevalent by the end millennium, but the movie showcases VCR’s, cassettes, and pay phones.

But there’s a clue during the talent portion of the presidential speech near the end of the movie. The ladies of the Happy Hands Club dance to the Backstreet Boys song “Larger then Life.” This album was released in 1999. All the above signifiers predate the boy band tune.

In essence, the era of Napoleon Dynamite is the land that time forgot. This little town in Idaho is far behind the times and this is actually a plot point providing meaning.

THE COMMENTARY ON RACE
I’m convinced that this film . . . this means something. This is important.

There are some obvious themes woven into the narrative. We’re urged to make the most of each moment, exemplified in Napoleon’s love life and his final dance; when juxtaposed against Uncle Rico’s desire to go back in time, it’s clear you need to go for it. The idea of belonging looms large as well; this was one of those first “geek will inherit the earth” projects, but since the culmination is a peculiar dance rather than an inspirational speech, it’s a more organic triumph.

Yet even if it was unintentional, the movie speaks loudly about issues of race.

The town is obviously backwards, this dated culture symbolizing the people themselves. The film shines a light on the sometimes silliness of white, rural culture.

In this viewing, I finally noticed the low-key racism projected onto Pedro. Nearly ever interaction that the principal has with/surrounding Pedro involves prejudice: the administrator drops a “Juarez” reference on the young Mexican. In another scene, he derides Pedro for the inappropriateness of using a piñata that looks like Summer, his competitor. Still later, when Summer makes a chimichanga reference about Pedro in front of the whole student body, the principal ignores the racially charged comment.

In running for school president, Pedro is essentially confronting the town’s racism. Of course he isn’t cool, but he also isn’t white. Napoleon, then, serves as a bridge to move the town to the other side. His odd dance forces the rest of the students look in the mirror. He exposes their demented Caucasian caste system (where even the white alphas are lame [see: “Larger Than Life”]) so why shouldn’t it be destroyed?

More subtle is the relationship between Napoleon’s brother, Kip, and his internet girlfriend, LaFawnduh. While LaFawnduh might be the only African American in the entire movie, she is actually the only normal person in the entire movie (if you can excuse her interest in Kip). In the end, the only way for Kip to become normal is to leave town and join LaFawnduh in Detroit.

The town needs to grow. While Napoleon is a simpleton, he won’t discriminate.

So is Napoleon Dynamite actually a brilliant movie?

Maybe not. But at the very least, it was far more intentional than I ever would have believed.

Post Super Bowl

For my fellow Bengals mourners, some perspective from a lifer the day after our loss to the Rams in Super Bowl LVI:

1. This team was loveable but quite flawed. The Bengals punched above their weight class throughout the playoffs and achieved more than we ever could have imagined. Eventually, you’ll be able to appreciate the journey; you’ll talk about this season for decades to come. And, at the very least, you won’t have to lament that we were blown out in the Super Bowl.

2. Ironically, that's the most frustrating part: we were so close. Subtract some key missteps, suspect play calling, and dubious officiating and the final result could have been different. But in the end, you have to take the game and the Bengals simply didn’t do enough to win.

3. In that vein, I’ve already seen Bengals fans spouting off that Zac Taylor isn’t the guy because of some mistakes from last night. That, my friends, is balderdash. Taylor created the culture that ushered this team to the Super Bowl. He pushed Mike Brown even further than Marvin Lewis which is perhaps the miracle of miracles. To even suggest a coaching change now is insanity. This loss will haunt him and he’ll learn from it.

4. Don’t get cocky. All the pundits who doubted Cincinnati for months will now proclaim them favorites for next year’s Super Bowl. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be surprised if it takes years to return to the same stage. The NFL is a parity league and there are a dozen of teams capable of a run similar to what we just had.

5. Still I remain hopeful because there is a firm foundation in this franchise. Cincinnati might finally become a destination location, as free agents will line up to play with Burrow. Fix that offensive line and a few defensive pieces, and it’ll get even more fun. While last night was a tragedy, it might serve as a catalyst for something better.

6. And perhaps most importantly, don’t get sucked into the crypto boom. The amount of those ads last night rivaled of the .com Super Bowl in 2000. If you’d like some Bitcoin as part of your balanced investment portfolio, that’s understandable. But once anything hits the marketing zeitgeist, you’re too late to get stupid wealthy with no effort.

Words of Love

On the recent Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I didn’t post anything.

Before explaining why, I need to provide some personal context. See, a terrific benefit of working for a financial institution is bankers holidays. For a few years now, I’ve been able to use MLK day to be fully reflective. Instead of using the off day to wrap up house projects, I nestle in to read and watch documentaries concerning Dr. King’s life and the movement he led.

It’s impossible to watch videos of the Civil Rights Movement and not be impacted. Those who were so bold as to fix a broken America hold my endless admiration. While their tact was non-violence, they were subjected to brutality. So many risked everything to ensure that our nation repented from the errors of our ways.

On MLK day, I lament. And as an ordained minister (like Dr. King himself), I long to put into words my emotions and share with others.

But I didn’t post anything.

I actually wrote almost a page of notes from my processing but just couldn’t bring myself to do anything with it. I just wasn’t convinced that it would make a difference.

The advent of social media has led to MLK Day receiving more attention that it ever had been previously. But while I’m thankful that the web has expanded a critical conversation, it seems to me that a toxicity that surrounds it. The number of MLK gatekeepers is increasing and they’re not happy.

Some suggest that unless you accept certain tenets that you are misrepresenting what we should remember. They have a point. While Dr. King’s struggle for racial equality is what takes center stage, he was also passionate concerning issues of poverty, workers rights, and war. Opinions about the man today are far more gracious than they were when he died, namely, because we’ve overlooked some of his more challenging preaching. Before he was killed, the majority of Americans despised that for which he stood. Today, he’s a hero.

Yet these efforts to retain the totality of Dr. King’s message are themselves divisive. While he was dedicated to an equality that some Americans have yet to accept, he constantly created paths for skeptics to get there. The content of his message was confrontational but it was always presented in a context of graciousness.

Dr. King wasn’t the first (nor the last) to present these teachings. But It’s his posture of communication that makes him one of my heroes.

When you lead with love, it makes all the difference.

I wish we all could do a little better in emulating Martin Luther King Jr. in this way. Press for change, but love those you would wish to heed the message.

As a preacher, I enjoy reading Dr. King's sermons. In the fall of 1954, after answering the call to pastor the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church in Montgomery, he used his very first sermon to preach on the love of God. His central texts were taken from the New Testaments, specifically the words of the apostle John. It’s this Scripture that was my greatest take away from this past Monday.

"We love because he first loved us. Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen."

Take Up and Read

If you’re trying to figure out Christianity, you have to come to grips with the Old Testament.

Many Christians view the Old Testament as an awkward relative: they know they share DNA but they block it on social media. Ignore the Old Testament and you won’t have to address the embarrassment. I use the word embarrass purposefully; some of the greatest challenges to our faith are found in these pages—in words of inspiration. Even the most devout believer would prefer that some of these texts didn’t exist.

Yet an essentially aspect of the Christian walk is grappling with the tension. While the gospel was created to resolve the stress of this duality (Holy God/Flawed humans), we must first admit that this strain exists.

Read the Old Testament and you’ll gain an understanding of this tension. I’m not suggesting that merely reading its pages will bring resolution, but you’ll at least develop an awareness. The Old Testament isn’t the story of a vengeful God but of a people who desire to live without accountability. A thorough study reveals the flaws of religiosity and why Jesus is desperately needed.

Read the Old Testament long enough and you’ll finally see that you’ve long held misconceptions about Christianity. And you’ll recognize anew that Christ is the hope of humanity.

My advice: if you’ve recently started a Bible reading plan, don’t skim the old stuff.

Dive into it. Embrace the awkward. You’ll be the better for it.

Pen to Paper

For a number of years now, one of the daily expectations I’ve maintained for myself is that I create something.

I leave the requirements of this discipline somewhat ambiguous. I don’t expect the highest of artistry, nor do I dictate that my creativity be expressed in a certain medium.

I’ve just learned that, when I’m making stuff, I’m growing. Thus, I strive to create something new every single day.

As the New Year begins, I feel compelled to hone in on my writing. I enjoy writing but, in pandemic times, it’s a skill that’s been most utilized for my job. This isn’t to say that I can’t be creative at work; strong writing will only increase as a key vocational tool for knowledge workers. Even when I’m writing for my job, I enjoy the task of wordsmithing. It just makes me better.

Wharton professor Adam Grant observed, “writing is more than a vehicle for communicating ideas. It's a tool for crystallizing ideas. Writing exposes gaps in your knowledge and logic. It pushes you to articulate assumptions and consider counterarguments.”

So while I won’t be posting daily this year, I’m focusing on writing something new every day. Since I’ve maintained this website long enough that it’ll become an adult this year (hitting eighteen years of blogging in November), it’s about time I utilize this space a bit more.

Ray Bradbury once said, “Write every day of your life. Read intensely. Then see what happens.”

I’ll keep you posted on how it works out.

Taking Shots

As an American, I realize that dipping into the world of soccer for a leadership lesson preemptively narrows the readership. Still, even though I’m a Yank, I’ve suffered under a cloud of dissatisfaction in recent days because of the sport and thought I’d channel it into something positive.

The (not so brief) synopsis: over the weekend, England was playing Italy in final of the European Championship tournament; outside of the World Cup, this is likely the most prestigious competition in international soccer. Despite being the birthplace of soccer, England has not won a major tournament since 1966. There are now multiple generations of Brits who have never witnessed an English victory so the entire country was on edge about this game.

The game took place in London so England had a robust homefield advantage. Still, the score remained tied going into overtime (it’s actually called extra time, but trying to make it relatable for non-fans). It was a tournament so, if amatch is tied after extra time, the contest is decided on penalty kicks: a one-on-one goal scoring opportunity between a kicker and a keeper. Penalties are a controversial part of soccer—no one wants a game to be determined in such a manner—but it beats a coin toss. By this point most players have run non-stop for two hours and the threat of injury and lack of competitiveness creates the necessary evil.

I’ve been pulling for England throughout the tournament because four players on my favorite club, Manchester United, were on the roster. Even though the United players are talented, they’re constantly criticized. Manchester United is broadly despised as they’re arguable the most successful team in English soccer history; there is a massive ABU (Anyone But United) contingency globally, so many rejoice in their failure. Two United players featured prominently in the game but two more sat on the bench, waiting for an opportunity to make a difference.

After a goal in the second minute of the match, the English manager, Gareth Southgate, was determined to sit on the lead. He arranged what’s referred to as a negative tactical strategy, opting to play defense instead of pushing for another goal. After Italy tied it in the second half, they had complete momentum, dominated possession, and looked most likely to score. Despite having young, energetic players on the bench, Southgate made limited substitutions and chose to retain the defensive strategy.

In extra time, two United players (Marcus Rashford and Jadon Sancho) finally started to warm-up. Despite being young, energetic players who could impact the game, Southgate used them sparingly in the tournament but was now determined to bring them in at the very end of the final match. Yet instead of substituting them earlier, he waited until the very last minute of extra time. These two had no opportunity to touch the ball in live play. At the conclusion of the match, both were predictably chosen to take penalty kicks.

An informed viewer could see this coming a mile away and predict the inevitability of what the fallout would be. I texted this to a friend before the shootout:

As I predicted, both Rashford and Sancho missed their penalties. Another young player for England, a teenager, missed the final kick, securing the victory for Italy.

Listening to pundits the past few days, they’ve tried to avoid blame and minimize the coaching mistake here. In concept, a penalty kick should be the easiest goal a player can score. But considering the gravity of the situation, it’s was such a bizarre choice, bringing on two “cold” players to make the most important plays in English history. It’s the equivalent of having a player sit the duration of the NBA Finals and pulling him off the bench with no time on a clock to hit a free throw . . . except there’s someone in the lane trying to block the shot.

As if missing the penalties wasn’t devastating enough, the fact that they’re United players amplifies potential criticism. But even more than this, both men are black so they’ve also been subjected to racial abuse online in recent days. Fortunately, there has been widespread repudiation of the racial comments, as well as pleas to embrace the players in a challenging time. As far as the British tabloids, this is about as generous as they’ve ever been.

Regardless, we simply ought not overlook the lack of leadership from the manager that created the situation in the first place.

THE LEADERSHIP LESSON
I know that’s a lot of set-up, but it’s partially self-therapeutic as the entire affair still leaves me angry. Even though it’s just a sports, my ire is heightened because it was so avoidable.

One of the things I love about sports is that it’s a real-time opportunity to watch people perform. Quite often, athletes struggle to step up in big occasions as it’s challenging to perform in the moment—especially with thousands of fans (and millions on television) watching your every move. It’s a fascinating human experiment to see if people can deliver at a moment for which they’ve trained their whole lives.

But team sports often exposes tactical blunders, decisions disconnected from athleticism but centered on thought and preparation. This is why we shouldn’t miss an opportunity to learn from this debacle.

I’d suggest that in the European final, Southgate succumbed to a form of the endowment effect. The manager adopted a paradigm of risk aversion, and saw the 1-0 lead England achieved in the second minute of the game was something to be closely guarded. As a result, the team held back and absorbed the attack. Even after the Italians equalized, the manager decided it was best to continue to play a counter-attacking strategy—continuing to sacrifice possession in the hopes of stealing a breakaway goal after an opposition mistake.

It’s not as if Southgate invented this strategy of guarding a lead and playing conservatively (often known as “parking the bus”), but most egregiously, it didn’t suit the talents of his squad. England had a bench full of attacking players (most notably Rashford and Sancho) who could have caused Italy massive problems if unleashed to do so. Instead, the manager opted for a war of attrition that never paid off and, ultimately, cost them a trophy.

In short, the lesson to be learned is that a leader’s job it to put his or her team in the best position to be successful.

Instead of chasing the win, the manager was determined not to lose. And then, when the lead was lost, his plan B was to take players rarely used in the tournament and thrust them into the most pressure-filled situation imaginable.

In trying to be fair, let me acknowledge a couple potential objections. First, the players were professionals so shouldn’t they be expected to step up? Perhaps yes, but understand that soccer is the quintessential team sport. Instead pursuing the win altogether, the manager allowed the matter to be settled individualistically. Second, since all of this took place in a two hour window, can we allow that Southgate simply made the wrong decision in crunch time? Here, I just can’t surrender ground. A manager should be prepared for anything that could potentially happen. Lack of preparation is no excuse.

My chief frustration with Southgate, even days after my anger text above, is that he set up those players to take all the pressure of the game on their shoulders while trying to minimize his exposure to critique. If he had abandoned negative soccer for the attack, he very well could have lost the match. But in the end, he didn’t even try to risk it. The irony is that Southgate’s “claim to fame” was missing a kick in a penalty shootout that saw England out of the 1996 World Cup. But perhaps this explains the the psychology behind his tactics. Did he think that Rashford and Sancho could succeed where he had previously failed?

Again, I’m encouraged that, at least, the English are rewriting the obvious narrative by embracing the men who missed. In fact, I predict that Rashford will become one of the most accomplished players in English history. While this gentle response from the nation is impressive, I would have been more impressed had the manager had taken the risk on Sunday when it was his reputation on the line.

If you’re a leader, your job is to lead from the front. If you’re unwilling to do so, you might want to find another job.

Pandemic Lessons in Sabbath

As we’re entering what seems to be the post-pandemic era, I can finally admit: I had a wonderful quarantine.

I hold a lot of guilt for even saying that; I know of far too many people who suffered get loss and tragedy in this time. Yet in our household, we were able to maintain our health and gain quality time. Forced to pause my normally hectic travel schedule, I found time to complete unfinished tasks. The isolation from the outside world also brought our family closer together. I’m refreshed and ready for what lies ahead.

Regardless of how you endured the pandemic, now is a good time to take stock of the lessons learned during the process. For me, perhaps the greatest takeaway was that I truly need to structure my life with times of Sabbath.

When I was preaching regularly, I always found opportunities to discuss the topic of Sabbath in sermons. There’s an old adage that says, “if you want to find out what your preacher struggles with, listen to the sins he brings up most regularly,” and for me, it was lack of Sabbath. The step back brought about by COVID seemingly made me more contemplative, calmer, and content with what I have in life.

While Jesus observed, “The Sabbath was created for the sake of man and not man for the sake of the Sabbath,” it doesn’t mean we Christians are designed solely for work. One of the issues of the Protestant Work Ethic (identified by German sociologist Max Weber) and the intermingling of call and vocation is that we feel as if it’s a sin to rest and reflect. While sloth ought to be avoided, Sabbath is a discipline to be pursued.

Early on in the pandemic, I ran across a sermon delivered by a man named Fletcher Parrish. He served as pastor of the Eleventh Avenue Methodist Church in Birmingham, Alabama. The sermon was from October 1918, delivered in the midst of the Spanish Flu epidemic. Over 100 years later, his spiritual observations on rest seemed incredibly apt as I maneuvered through social distancing:

“Meditation is very profitable for the soul, but the rush of the world is so great at present that very little time is given to cogitation and reflection . . . Men think they have no time to walk out in the fields for contemplation, or to sit quietly by the fireside and muse.

"However, we have a God-given opportunity for this helpful indulgence by reason of this unique Sabbath which has dawned upon us. Out of necessity our churches are closed, and all public gatherings must be discontinued. We cannot go motoring, and we would not go to business if we could, and even the fields are dangerous lest we should come in contact with goldenrod and ragweed and take influenza. But we can sit by the fire and give ourselves to thought and reflection which will bring great profit to us.”

I found this encouraging as, even in a time before the internet and smart phones, a preacher from Alabama observed that the world was moving far too quickly . . . that people never found sufficient time to Sabbath. The question for us moderns is will we resume our full-throttled lifestyle now that the pandemic is over or will we carve our moments to break our rhythm? Will we continue to rest?

John Mark Comer in his book, Garden City, summarized it well and I offer his words here:

“Sabbath is an expression of faith. Faith that there is a Creator and he’s good. We are his creation. This is his world. We live under his roof, drink his water, eat his food, breathe his oxygen. So on the Sabbath, we don’t just take a day off from work; we take a day off from toil. We give him all our fear and anxiety and stress and worry. We let go. We stop ruling and subduing, and we just be . . . It’s more of a rhythm in creation than a rule in a book . . . Sabbath isn’t just a Pause button — it’s a full, complete, total system restart. We power down, cool off, let the fan wind down, and then reboot. Sabbath is a chance to take a long, hard look at our lives and to retune them to the right key.”

How are you retuning your life? How are you handing over your burdens to God?

The Sin of Pastoral Narcissism

“A man hears what he wants to hear and he disregards the rest”

— Simon & Garfunkel

Daily I interact with church leaders, mostly to discuss the strategic side of operating their ministries. As a church grows larger, the logistical obligations grow more intense, and I get the opportunity to walk them through solutions. This can lead to some passionate exchanges; it’s challenging for some pastors to view ministry obstacles as anything but an unholy impediment.

With these kinds of pastors, if you’re not actively assisting their vision for the church, you’re potentially an agent of Satan. So when I’m forced to push back against to the desires of ministry leaders, I can be viewed as a spiritual roadblock, or even worse, an adversary of the gospel.

Personally, I’ve grown accustomed to such conflict and deal with it well. I recognize the immense stress that pastors face. These are challenging times for church leaders in the American church, requiring levels of patience and creativity for which no seminary could prepare them.

Yet more than ever in my nearly three decades of church work, I’ve begun to witness unprecedented acts of pastoral narcissism. Again, I can deal with it (I mean, they’re not my pastor) but it makes me concerned for the flocks they shepherd.

Some recent incidents lead me to explore the sin of narcissism. To be clear, I have no desire to bash on pastors; as an ordained minister myself, I know that it’s not helpful to pile on servants. Still (and you’ll note this in my take-aways) the American church and its leadership are in need of healthy accountability and this narcissism must be confronted.

If you’re reading this, you’re likely either a pastor or someone interested in the expansion of churches for the kingdom. Regardless of your position, I’m hoping you can use they words to glean some info and use it for positive changes in the church.

THE STORY SELDOM TOLD
Narcissism in a religious leader can have massive spiritual ramifications. Worshippers tend to put spiritual figures on pedestals so, when they fail, it has far reaching resonance. Unfortunately, it appears that narcissism is on the rise or, at the very least, that we’re finally acknowledging it. Generally, it’s believed that only 1% of the population has Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD); of this amount, the vast majority are men. Although that number isn’t too alarming, a 2015 study of Canadian pastors revealed that nearly 30% of respondents had NPD. Despite the average age of respondents being 60 years old, the NPD numbers are struggling. I can’t think that the emerging generations of pastors will struggle with narcissism less than their predecessors.

In presenting the research about pastoral narcissism, the study clarified what many often misunderstand about this disorder. We think that the narcissist is merely in love with himself. In reality, as the study affirms, “narcissism is more about shame and self-hatred . . . seeing oneself not as guilty of something separate from oneself, but . . . broken, ugly, and beyond repair. This shame is unbearable and must be defeated.”

The researchers continue, “shame is so intolerable to the narcissist that he develops various means to block it entirely from his experience. Instead, the shame is directed outward towards others—it can never be his or her fault. Thus the narcissist, who cannot be wrong, is vaulted into the role of victim when something goes wrong, which in itself is a powerful role.”

When the narcissistic pastor frames himself as the victim in these situations, he is actually likening himself to Jesus, mistakenly casting detractors in the roles of the Pharisees and the Roman government. The pastor with NPD would frame himself as the persecuted and scorned—as one caught in the midst of a spiritual battle. He’s forced to persevere in the light of unjust circumstances, believing that he’s carrying his cross for the kingdom.

A FIGHTER BY HIS TRADE
The quote at the beginning of this post is one I’ve often quoted. It makes sense since Simon and Garfunkel’s The Boxer is one of my favorite songs.

Written in 1965, The Boxer is a song about a man who has grappled with poverty and loneliness. He moves to New York to seek his fortune, and, though the realities of his world were brutal, he found success in boxing ring. While he emerged from the arena victoriously, his life still lacks comfort as the crowds see the boxer as nothing more than a source of entertainment; the punches that the man absorbed in the ring are similar to the metaphorical blows he’s taken from critics. In the end, he walks away, leaving it all behind.

Paul Simon wrote this as a catharsis to a life experience. As he and his musical partner Art Garfunkel catapulted to fame in the mid-60’s, the began to experience intense backlash from their growing popularity.

Yet as I examine the lyrics of the song, I see the life trajectory of most narcissistic pastors I’ve encountered.

These leaders generally have humble origins; their lack of pedigree meant they weren’t well-known as they started their career. But as they found success, they became lauded for their depth and brilliance, and the scope of their spiritual influence expanded. Even though they grew to bask in the limelight of pastoral celebrity culture, they still struggled to believe they truly belonged. Thus, they masked their shame, their brokenness, and the ugliness of not being enough. They then focused their ire on detractors while calling down curses on the haters. Grappling with self-hatred, they were like a bomb waiting to explode.

I’m not sure that Paul Simon was narcissistic when he channeled his experiences in writing The Boxer. Nor do I believe that all pastors that emerge from modest contexts are prone to this sin. Still, I think we need to acknowledge that ministers may have baggage that impacts the way they view their kingdom work. No matter how you slice it, narcissism isn’t redeemable. It needs to be called out and confronted.

CHANGES UPON CHANGES
The problem with the sin of pastoral narcissism is that it’s difficult to recognize it before it’s too late. The key, then, is for pastors to arrange their lives so they operate in systems to prevent it from happening. Three things that should value here:

1. Internal accountability
I get leery when I work with churches where the lead pastor is THE leader of the congregation. The model of church governance from the book of Acts is leadership by group. A plurality of voices (both staffers and volunteers) creates the environment for mutual submission. As much as we love the idea of visionary leader, churches are better (and more biblical) when power is dispersed among multiple people.

2. External accountability
I’ve always served in non-denominational settings. While I prefer autonomous churches/ministries, I see the benefit of denominational structures, especially when they provide accountability outside of the local church. In the absence of this, pastors ought to have healthy friendships with other church leaders. Ministers need to let other ministers speak prophetically into their lives. This, combined with internal congregational accountability, create a dynamic where the Spirit can speak to the pastor through a myriad of relationships. It’s a web that, conceivably, limits the possibility of narcissism.

3. Self accountability
There’s a great power that accompanies the ability to speak into the spiritual lives of other humans. When the preacher believes that he or she has a special position in the kingdom of God, that’s when this power can be corrupted. Braggadocious pastors always leave me concerned because they have seemingly forgotten the source of their spiritual power. We hold ourselves accountable when we’re in pursuit of humility. If you aspire to lead in Christ’s church, I suggest a deep study of Philippians 2 to see how the Savior lived this out in His life.

Regardless of your place in the world, a consideration of the sin of pastoral narcissism should lead to self-reflection. We should all take the time to look in the mirror and ask ourselves difficult questions. As much as I’ve witnessed narcissism recently, I’m using these opportunities to determine if I too suffer from NPD. Writing all this out is essentially another way of holding myself accountable.

This is why we must constantly preach the gospel to ourselves. We’re not victims, nor are we Jesus. But unless we admit that we’re in desperate need of His grace, we have little hope in being used by Him to make His kingdom come.

Jesus and John Wayne: Just History

How did the American church become so fractured?

At the end of 2020, Liveright Publishing released a book that attempted to address this issue. In Jesus and John Wayne, How White Evangelicals Corrupted a Faith and Fractured a Nation, Kristen Kobes Du Mez explores the recent history of the American church, specifically, from an evangelical perspective. Du Mez is a professor of history and gender studies at Calvin College, a Christian Reformed university in Grand Rapids, Michigan. She brings a level of scholarship to a topic that has engulfed many Christians throughout the pandemic: when and why did American evangelicals become obsessed with political power? Du Mez suggests that this has been decades in the making, the result of a flawed faith system, and in reality, a religion constructed on masculinity and nationalism.

Du Mez isn't the first person to launch such a critique, nor is she the first academic to take a research-based approach to explaining it. Yet her book is striking a chord, resonating with readers both Christian and skeptic alike. Du Mez thoughtfully exposes topics that evangelicals have long ignored. As a result, this is an important work and should push the American church to do better as we wield the gospel.

While I appreciate her desire to make American Christians address the missteps of our forefathers, I was also extremely frustrated while reading Jesus and John Wayne As someone who agrees with her on multiple points, there were many times when I felt her math was mistaken. In my view, Du Mez was selective with her research, avoiding key counterpoints, to prove her hypothesis.

If you haven’t read the book, you might want to stop reading my take. Or perhaps you may want to use my thoughts as a primer before you dive into the book. Regardless, I took copious notes of Jesus and John Wayne thinking that I’d write a multitiered reflection on it. But because I want this to be a constructive critique, I focus on the titular character and what I believe Du Mez misses in her analysis of the American church’s understanding of masculinity and nationalism.

DECONSTRUCTING JOHN WAYNE
Throughout the book, the author suggests a generation of Christian men (and in turn, most of American Christianity) were influenced by the masculinity of John Wayne. Essentially I was one of those men. I didn’t arrive there through happenstance: my father was a veteran of the Vietnam War and part of the bonding experience he and my brothers participated in was watching John Wayne movies. Du Mez suggests this was an indoctrination, but I feel that she overstates that influence. While a fan of “the Duke,” I was also a child of the 1980’s; John Wayne died when I was three. I always viewed him as an historical figure; he was fascinating, but not an idol.

And while Du Mex uses Wayne’s life and movie career to define the current Christian patriarchy, she overlooks some key parts of his story. In fact, she avoids what is perhaps the most definitive role of his movie career.

The Man Who Shot Liberty Vallance is one of the most lauded of John Wayne’s films. In 1962 director John Ford, who was in the twilight of his career, decided to make a movie featuring two aging stars: John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart. It was shot on a Hollywood soundstage so missing in production are the sweeping views of the Wild West that Ford featured in Stagecoach and She Wore A Yellow Ribbon. Ford is one of the most prolific directors of American westerns and could be credited with making John Wayne a star. An aside I’ve always found fascinating: Ford devoted the years of the Second World War to using his skills in the fight against the Nazis; a navy commander, he was actually present on Omaha Beach on D-Day.

The hyper-masculinity that many associate with John Wayne was in fact the creation of John Ford.

If you’ve never watched Liberty Vallance, I’d suggest it or, at the very least, read Roger Ebert’s review of it. The movie is a flashback, a story told by a successful senator (Jimmy Stewart) who established his career in a wild west town. Returning to the town to attend the funeral of the cowboy (John Wayne), the senator’s arrival is a newsworthy event. The local newspaper, represented by a young reporter and a seasoned editor, press the senator to recount the event that made him successful: he was thrust onto a national stage because (spoiler alert) he shot the nefarious Liberty Vallance. Yet unbeknownst to the public, the senator’s defining moment of heroism was the action of the cowboy.

The central thesis of the movie is the exercise of power. The senator was a peace-loving man who believed in the rightness of law. The cowboy, the only character who stands up to Vallance, believes that violence is the only resort to challenge a corrupt bully. The cowboy struts along as he always does in John Wayne movies but, in the end, it’s the man of law and justice who survives and thrives.

With this movie, Ford lays to rest the mystique of John Wayne; he does this literally, as the movie centers around his character's funeral. Yes, Ford created the immortal image of the romanticized pioneer who tamed the range but in Liberty Vallance, life goes on without John Wayne. And, in fact, his death ushers in a new era. No longer is the projection of masculinity the gunslinging, punch-wielding cowboy but rather the gentle senator who not only gets the girl, but spends the movie standing up for the disenfranchised (women and minorities).

RECONSTRUCTING HISTORY
My breakdown of a movie made six decades ago seemingly has nothing in common with American Christianity, but it’s apt if we are to accept Du Mez’s articulation of the American church today. She opines that hyper-masculinity and nationalism are the cause of the fracture of the American church. If this is the case, we need to clearly delineate all the historical events that speak into this. My diatribe on The Man Who Shot Liberty Vallance stands as a contradiction to her thesis. How does John Ford’s final commentary on Western masculinity impact the current trajectory of the American church?

In response, I’m assuming that Du Mez would reject my take as either an outlier or a superfluous critique. But as a John Wayne movie fan (I also enjoy professional wrestling, so my culture palate is diverse), I can’t imagine avoiding Liberty Vallance when considering his career. To be clear, Du Mez offers anecdotes from Wayne’s personal life (most importantly, some of his racist comments) as an amplifier of this trend toward toxic masculinity. But she blurs the lines between the characters portrayed by John Wayne and what he personally believed. This, in my view, takes the critique beyond the work of the historian to that of cultural interpretation.

In a recent New York Times article, Du Mez highlighted the criticism she’s received from evangelicals about her book. When considering the impact her words could have on Christianity, she rejected any potential negative outcomes of her work by nothing that it’s purely history and “history isn’t a marketing campaign to win converts.”

Du Mez understands it as just history. This is why I struggled with the book: it’s more than just history.

Even though Du Mez is a trained historian, she identifies as a follower of Jesus and works at a Christian seminary. I’d argue that the reason the Du Mez’s book gained such popularity is because of her role on the faculty of a seminary. Her critique comes from what the masses perceive as a pastoral position. There’s a preference among scholars to view their contributions as merely academic endeavors—somehow staking a position participating in a process that hovers above orthopraxy (the practice of faith). But in situations like this, it is impossible to divorce the history (the collection/systemization of a series of events) from practical theology. Like it or not, her words have greater weight than that of a simple academician. It’s accepted as work of theology.

To be fair, Du Mez does solid work as a historian; her citations are many and diverse. But in her desire to prove her hypothesis correct, she approaches history more selectively than a secular theologian would. She takes advantage of the pastoral position to prove a case: American Christians refuse to address the flawed figures of our past. Even if she’s right, it’s not just history; it’s commentary on evangelicalism.

There’s nothing wrong with subjectivity unless you’re suggesting that it’s actually fact. And this isn’t to say that Du Mez doesn’t offer some compelling facts that many in the evangelical world have avoided Her blindspot, however, is exposed as she discusses those who have committed wrongs. For example, I take issue with Du Mez’s merciless critique of Billy Graham for his missteps. While his transgressions (his political exploits and hesitation to support parts of the Civil Rights struggles) should be confronted, they needn’t negate other areas of life where he made considerable positive impact; in fact, I appreciated the recent PBS documentary on Graham’s life (apparently directed by a non-Christian) that acknowledged personal failings but showing he learned from and moved beyond them. All humans have highs and lows; we should be careful not to summarize one’s contributions by their extremes.

CONFRONTING CYNICISM
Again I repeat that Du Mez’s work is important because American Christians can’t continue to ignore the skeletons in our closest. We should own the scandalous parts of our past as the current times make transparency inevitable. Jesus taught that the evil hate the light because their evil deeds will be illuminated (John 3); the digital world have made His words a reality. I’m thankful for Du Mez’s passion in exposing the sins of masculinity and nationalism yet her tone is far too cynical for my taste. If that’s how I, someone who agrees with many of her assertions, interprets the book, how can it be a force for positively impact? Unfortunately, this is lacking.

The effectiveness of biblical Christianity is rooted in the power of Gospel. And the power of the Gospel is realized in the application of redemption. While the hyper-masculinity and nationalism in the American church today bring me sadness, I cannot find any benefit in a complete rejection of anything associated with American evangelicalism. This movement is no more noble than any of its predecessors, but neither does it deviate from the template. All movements are flawed but the failings of humanity are redeemed by Christ. Sanctification is an elusive goal, but that doesn’t mean we stop trying.

The book led my thoughts to my father, who instilled in me a love John Wayne movies. He was not a war-monger; in fact, I can count on one hand how many times he discussed specific experiences from his time serving in Vietnam. He witnessed firsthand the brutality of war and was able to separate cinema from reality. He was my model of masculinity and nationalism and, in all things, his understanding of them were rooted in Christian identity. Yet I felt that Du Mez convicts him as guilty by association. I’m sure it wasn’t intentional (she has never met my father), but when we speak on spiritual things, we must always be pastoral. Otherwise, all we’ve done is throw logs on the fire of cynicism.

Cynicism is incompatible with the Gospel. This doesn’t mean we are forbidden to critique, but I believe Christians must follow deconstruction with reconstruction. The story of the Gospel is a story of hope through which we should consider all other human history. Yes, we’re still forced to confront evil and misdeeds, but we recognize that evil is powerless when compared to the message of Christian Scriptures. In the end, the Lord will rights all wrongs. In the end, corrupted systems and ideologies give way to the kingdom of God.

At the end of The Man Who Shot Liberty Vallance the characters struggle with what to do with their newfound truth; reality was far more complex than they ever imagined. When the newspaper editor nixes the true story the senator asks why. He responds, “this is the West, sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”

In an inverted sense, this is what Du Mez decided with the recent history of American evangelicalism: she told a great story. Yet in order to accomplish this, she amplified all the wrongs and refused to give credit to the good it’s accomplished. The story of the church (yes, even the American church) cannot be fully told unless intertwined with the story of the Gospel—the continued journey of a people in pursuit of God while needing redemption.

That’s more than just history.

Slow Down To Remember

Now that we’re slowly emerging from the pandemic, we need to grapple with the grief we’ve experienced.

One of the small losses that I’ve personally felt was the cancellation of road races. As a long-distance runner who’s completed multiple marathons a year for over a decade, I had no goal for my training. Even though it saddens me, it’s also provided a welcome break. While I love staying in shape, the long runs needed to build endurance really eat up free time on the weekend.

In my marathon training, I enjoy running across the city toward Spring Grove, the largest cemetery in Cincinnati. As you head into back into the city from there, the most route (and the flattest) is Spring Grove Avenue, an expansive road featuring endless industrial warehouses. It’s a veritable ghost town on weekends, and with an established bike lane to boot, it’s an ideal road for a long run. Urban solitude is how I describe it.

A few years ago I was out on a Saturday working a fifteen mile run and I was all alone on Spring Grove Avenue. Ahead in the distance I saw flashing lights and realized a funeral procession was headed my way. I had enough time to think about how I should react: should I continue along or pause and pay respects? I really hate to pause when out for a long run; it can be devastating to lose momentum when you still have miles left to go. Still, it felt incredibly disrespectful to be out enjoying my weekend while those driving by were experiencing grief. And since there was no one else around me, I felt whatever response I chose would be easily seen.

I paused on the sidewalk, took of my hat, and stood there until the procession had passed.

I was reminded about it last week when I was driving and a funeral procession passed in front of me at the traffic light. As I paused I noticed a driver on a side street looking quite annoyed. Predictably, the motorist cut off the procession, wove in and out of the line, and then passed the procession on the outside lane. While I was instantly angry, my rage turned to sadness for the driver.

What could have been so important in their day that a ninety second pause was simply too long?

Of the many lessons we’ve learned in the past twelve months, I’m hoping that we’ve rediscovered the virtue of patience.

Like most task oriented folk, I get annoyed at the inconvenience of pausing progress. I want what I want and I want it now. But even in my desire to live on the cutting edge, I rarely reflect that I’d be better off not to pause. If the respite progresses toward reflection, my future decision making will be even better.

And I would hope that, with the great loss we’ve all experienced in the last twelve months, a reminder of our mortality should help us prioritize our actions and effectiveness in the world.

Today we’re slowing down for the procession or we’re in the midst of it.

One day, we’ll be in the casket.

So slow down to remember. The small act of pausing for funeral processions is a good start.

Even though we all have a lot to do, we’d benefit from reflecting on the loss we’ve experienced. Hitting pause is the least we can do to see the bigger picture of life.

On Accountability

I paused a few weeks before offering my thoughts on the revelations concerning Ravi Zacharias. Not providing links here as you either already know about it or you can find it elsewhere on the web.

Perhaps the main reason for my silence is that this hit close to home. In a previous job, I planned an entire event around Zacharias—a seminar and fundraiser with a few thousand attending to hear him teach. Since I was involved in logistics, I only met Ravi briefly but I spent considerable time around his team (specifically Nabeel Qureshi who, unfortunately, passed away from cancer at a young age). Both my wife and I have friendships with people holding strong ties to his ministry, so there’s a deep sadness for us now.

It’s important to immediately address that there were countless victims of Zacharias’ predatory actions and we cannot ignore the pain forced upon them. Not only was there abuse but spiritual manipulation was used to cover it up; it seems as though he guilted victims into silence suggesting that people would lose faith if his crimes were known. While lamenting the unthinkable damage he inflicted on these women, and praying for their comfort in the aftermath, I also fear for Ravi as he appears before the throne of God; Scripture attests that spiritual leaders will be held to a higher standard for their actions and he used his position as a faith leader to commit grievous sins.

So while there is much to be learned from this failure, looking for lessons does not in any way negate the experience of the victims. In fact, it’s important for both religious leaders and their organizations to do some soul searching to prevent such abuse from taking place under their watch. While many have offered ideas of how such abuse of power can be curtailed, I want to identify something I believe Scripture teaches that Christian leaders often ignore.  

RETHINKING ACCOUNTABILITY
Many Christians maintain a hierarchical view of Christian authority, viewing wisdom and spiritual maturity within a pyramid structure. While it’s most commonly referred to today as celebrity culture, it existed long before the days of church conferences and social media. We Christians tend to elevate certain personalities toward higher spiritual status. Most consistently, this occurs when those leaders self-assert that they are worthy of a position of authority. In light of this there are cynics who desire a non-structural Christian experience, but this overcorrection isn’t necessarily helpful. Read the New Testament and you’ll observe that believers have different gifts. Some of those gifts are more public in nature and will visibly present the gift-holder as a spiritual leader.

In my experience, the issue is not with structuralism but rather with how those people are kept in check. Again, looking at the New Testament, we see a church structure that was managed by a plurality of leaders living in accountability to each other. While this is the norm, American Christianity often strays from this template. There are Christian leaders who seemingly hold such a position of status that it can be difficult for them to be held accountable.

The Old Testament holds an example of this in the person of King David. In 1 Samuel 13:14 it was revealed that David was, "a man after God's own heart." From these humble beginnings, David’s spirituality and savvy led him to a seat upon the throne ruling over God’s people. But the very virtues that led David to the crown were distorted by power. His heart was corrupted throughout his reign—from his sexual conquest of a married woman to allowing 70,000 of his subjects die for mere arrogance.

With David, the issue was exacerbated because Kings of Israel operated in complete autonomy; sure, the Lord sent prophets to confront kings of their sins but they could easily be ignored or even killed.

When thinking of Ravi’s manipulation, I wonder if he thought of himself as a David.

Explore Ravi’s origin story or read his writings, and you see a man whose life was lived to defend the rightness of God. But underneath this spiritual façade was a predator, a man who saw his people as subjects that existed for his pleasure. I’m curious to see if this was a view Ravi long held or if it was something that revealed itself as he became a world famous Christian leader.

While there’s a certain romanticism of royalty (note the continued fascination of moderns toward the Windsors or, biblically, Israel’s continued request for God to grant them a king) it is not the ideal structure of spiritual leadership. I’d suggest that the better way is visible in the New Testament. The structure of the church supersedes the monarchy as, in the body of Christ, a plurality of leaders can call other believers into biblical submission. By design, the church ought to be a place where the indiscretions of leaders can be brought into correction.

Yet unfortunately, the rise of parachurch organizations and individual ministry creates situations with little to no accountability. From multiple firsthand accounts, Ravi was confronted by those within his organization about issues but such such efforts—even about minor issues—were completed rebuffed. I’m not suggesting then that all ministry must take place within the confines of the local church, but ministry practitioners must operate in a similar system of accountability. I’m quite skeptical of leaders who won’t submit to other Christian leaders, specifically those who refuse to participate in the local church (which was apparently Ravi’s modus operandi). The benefit of biblical community is that the Lord calls us to submission through mutual relationships so we all are all held to standards of behavior.

Obviously there are churches that have a plurality of leaders and don’t consistently maintain these standards. Yes, there are flawed churches but it doesn’t mean the biblical system is broken. Local leadership is a labor of love that takes time and effort. But just because certain churches have failed at this, we shouldn’t throw out the baby with the bathwater. If you take the claims of Scripture seriously, one cannot pursue the path of Christ in isolation of the local community of believers.

From my perspective, it’s actually this skepticism of the church leadership structure that permits predators like Ravi to reign freely. Reluctance to accept local church leadership pushes us to look for different kinds of spiritual authority. While we reject leaders we know, we love to laud leaders afar. And in the world of Church Inc., there are an ever increasing amount of those leaders accessible to us, many of whom operate freely, outside the confines of any accountability. In essence, it’s the dismissal of the church leadership empowers celebrity Christian culture. When you know the flaws of your own pastors, you’re generally more enamored by the leader of whom you know little.

This isn’t a call to deconstruct Christian leaders, but to address their authenticity. Think about the revisionist history of King David. To be clear, he’s a fascinating character. If all you knew about David were his psalms, you’d suspect he was the greatest man of faith who ever lived. Yet despite the fact that the Bible lists his many sins, he’s often presented as an admirable character—someone to be emulated. We tend to teach our children more about the Goliath story than of his abuse of Bathsheba.

The modern church has afforded Davidic status to leaders that appear to be “after God’s own heart.” They are offered levels of respect and trust to the extent that they are practically autonomous. And this is what creates contexts in which abuse can reign. The tragedy of so many of these recent cases is that abusers were supposedly operating in systems of accountability and yet they were not confronted effectively until it was far too late.

And in far too many of these cases, the spiritual status of the abusers are so great that their victims are sometimes portrayed as culpable or conniving. Instead of being protected, they are silenced in the shadow of the perceived holiness of the leader. The Scriptures do not tell us that leaders should be above accountability. So we do we let it persist?

The church needs leaders and needs its leaders to be in relationships of true accountability. For too long our faith has based upon the brilliance of saints when, in realty, it should have been built upon the realization that we are merely redeemed sinners. The hero of Scripture is Christ and we are flawed participants in His story. Unless we acknowledge this, our faith is incomplete. The expectation that leaders should be held to a higher standard doesn’t eliminate the effectiveness of the gospel.

Biblical accountability ought to work. When it fails, it’s often because too many leaders long to be kings.