Ouch... I believe this stone is yours?

I am a sinner, saved by Grace, so I have no room to boast.
I am not perfect... like I said: I am a sinner. I keep screwing up.

The good news is a wonderful paradox-- there is nothing I can do to be "good enough" for God; my only hope comes at the expense of a perfect sacrifice offered on my behalf to take my punishment in exchange for a life-changing intimacy with The Father-- this historic Jesus, born of the line of David, in Bethlehem, was uninterested in political power or military might. The people wanted a fighter, someone like David to shed the blood of the oppressor... so they used the political system to brutally and publicly assassinate him.

There is a popular perception that somehow America, or other countries for that matter, are no longer the Christian nations that they used to be. I have read enough history to doubt whether any nation is Christian, but to qualify that, let me explain what I mean by "christian".
Jesus taught his followers to love their enemies and pray for those who persecuted them. All of the original disciples were killed by the secular and religious authorities of that time, though John outlived most of them. They did not die in gun battles or sword fights; like sheep they were led to the slaughter. Although impulsive and passionate Peter used his sword to try to protect Jesus, he was rebuked and later allowed Rome to crucify him... upside down because he was unworthy to die like the Messiah.
Thousands of these Jesus-followers were stoned to death by Jewish communities trying to "purify" and "purge" their community from this sect. Thousands of others were used for sport in the Roman arena. They huddled in shadows with secret codes to avoid persecution.
In time the good news of the atoning sacrifice of Jesus reached Caesar and other heads of state, but in assimilating it as an institutional religion, transmuted it into something very different from The Way.

Today I see the Christian faith still in this age-old struggle between authentic obedience to the teachings of Jesus  and the institutional power that conveniently adheres to Christian ideology when it suits its agenda. The former is not the same as the latter.
An amazing display of follower-ship was recently seen at Emmanuel AME Church in Charleston. Those families better reflected Jesus than any evangelical celebrity in the media. The very outrage created in the hearts of radical militants by their courageous faith to forgive gives testimony that the Church is not dead yet, though not likely to be seen in the media outside of opportunities to sell advertisement.
I see a great parallel between the original Church and the black church, the Coptic church, or other marginalized communities that follow the Lord's command, "Come, follow me."

So as you throw stones at what you do not understand, I challenge you to consider your role in history, who you stand with, and who you stand against.

Tiny Glass Bells

I remember the night I cried for my loss.

I was on the school's annual induction retreat for incoming freshmen students, and after a late night of preparation and planning for the next day's activities I escorted one of my female colleagues to her cabin in the woods. I'm not sure what kind of security I could actually provide if we encountered some rabid lumberjack on the trail, but there's always comfort in companionship.

As an aging teacher I was beginning to struggle with my hearing, especially those shy little girls that sit on the back row, brilliant yet afraid they may be wrong with their contribution to our daily discussions. "Mr. Kelley, I think tha... ke... but...."-- DRATS! I'm losing my ability to engage in my own discussions!
So I went to the audiologist, was tested in her sound-proof phone booth, and was issued a set of high-dollar hearing aids programmed specifically for me. I was given a two-week trial to see what I thought, two weeks that included this particular retreat. I didn't wear them all the time-- as a playful teacher away at camp with students, I'm always mindful of the possibility that impulse-laden guys may entertain themselves with a moment of mutiny and decide to escort said teacher into the pool or lake-- not good for hearing aids or cell phones. At night, especially during meetings, I was free to don my new toys and try them out. I would turn them on and off at intervals, collecting data whether the cost was worth the benefit. Undecided.

Walking back along the trail that night, I realized I had turned them off during the meeting earlier and thought I'd just turn them back on. This model starts with a little chime: "Do-da-do-deet", except this time something was terribly wrong-- intense static filled my ears, like when as a kid I turned on my AM radio with my earphones on...so loud! So intense! This set of hearing aids were defective-- thank goodness I hadn't bought them-- and I turned them off quickly! Walking another minute down the moonlit trail, I thought I'd give them one-last-try [how often throughout my life I've done this?], and again: "SHHHHHHHH...", yet there was also something... something melodic... something familiar. As I stepped closer to the end of the woods the din unravelled into a very difficult, horrifying reality: the night was alive with insect life and I never heard it in my adult years.
I cried.
I cried for the horrible reality that I had missed a whole world around me for so long, a world that friends would comment on or complain about that I had no awareness of... a world re-experienced with a new wonder, like when a child gets her first pair of corrective eyeglasses. I bought the hearing aids.

So today as I sip coffee and eat breakfast in the backyard with my Sweet Susie, I realized my hearing aids made it home from their normal residence in my classroom. She sits transfixed, amazed at some mysterious event above us as I watch flocks of cedar waxwings fly in and out of the mulberry trees. In her sad, pitiful way she looks at me and repeats her gentle query: "Can you hear that?"
I reply, as always: "The cars?, the wind? the doves? the sparrows? the mockingbird? the neighbors? That?"
She just looks at me... sadly. Except today I go inside, put on the aids, and step outside into a din of tiny crystal bells trilling away with fantastic enthusiasms. "Got it," I say, now appreciating what I've been missing in my own backyard, sharing now with my sweety what brings her such joy.

Little, tiny crystal bells; trilling with life. Thank you, Abba, for the wonder of your Creation. And for the consolation of the Serenity Prayer, knowing there are some things that don't have to be accepted or settled for.