Touchdown Jesus: Or Why God Doesn’t Care About The Denver Broncos

So let me get this straight.  Tim Tebow is a Christian.  He is very vocal about his faith.  He prays to God before, during, and after his games.  He gives God credit for touchdowns and victories.  And therefore God is rewarding him (and his team?) by assisting in one amazing play after another?  Even allowing the helpless Broncos to defeat the mighty Steelers?  Surely there is justice in the world!  But what happens when the Broncos lose?  Are there no Christians on the Steelers?  Are they not praying to the same God that Tebow prays to?

Tebowing

Hear me out on this.  I like Tim Tebow.  I love the fact that he seeks to put God first in his life (isn’t this what the Bible tells us to do?).  I love that he has a heart for world missions (we could learn something from him on this).  I love that he deflects attention away from himself after games.  I love that he finds time to visit sick kids in the hospital during the season.  I love that he remains humble even though his jersey is one of the best selling in the NFL.  But does all this mean that God is helping Tebow and the Broncos win football games? Give me a break.

Look, I get it.  The guy wins games.  Sometimes he wins games in the most unlikely way possible.  Some might even say “miraculous.”  He’s clutch.  He’s a fierce competitor and a winner.  But it doesn’t change the fact that 8,000 people will die today from Malaria, a disease that is preventable and treatable.  There are more people enslaved in our world today than at any point in history.  16,000 children will die today from starvation.  And God cares about a football game?

Let me be clear.  I do believe that God is active in our world.  I see signs of it every day.  Lost people find their way to God.  Broken people are restored into God’s image.  Orphans realize that they are children of God.  Hopeless people find peace and hope in God’s kingdom.  A kingdom where Christ is presently reigning.  A kingdom where justice prevails and the oppressed are set free.  A kingdom with a football field?  I’m not convinced.

Why We Named Our Son Malachi

To this day, I cannot recall why I deserved to be “switched,” but the chances are good that the punishment was befitting of the crime.  ”That’s it, I’m pulling over,” Pa shouted, and I knew I was in for it.  I had heard rumors of Pa’s “switchings,” and I wanted no part of it.  As Pa stormed off into the woods to find the perfect sapling for my butt-whipping, my entire six-year-old life flashed before my eyes.  I was going to have to think fast in order to have any hope of sitting down for the rest of the trip.  In a stroke of genius, I decided to lock the doors.  After all, Pa  couldn’t switch me if he couldn’t get to me, right? And surely Gran Gran, Sally, and Katherine wouldn’t sell me out by unlocking the doors.  I mean, they could see the look in Pa’s eyes and the fear in mine, so the least they could do was keep the doors locked.  Either way, I had made my bed and now it was time to lie in it…

Malachi's Great-Grandfather, "Pa"

As you can probably imagine, Pa’s “switchings” were not his only legendary quality.  Malachi Goforth was a Navy veteran of World War 2, which made him a hero in our eyes, even if he rarely talked about it.  He supposedly played some semi-pro baseball, and the 60 oz loaded wooden bat in his basement added to the legend.  He loved to work in his garden.  He loved even more giving away his vegetables to his neighbors.  He loved the outdoors, making sure he got in his “hike to the top of the mountain” on a regular basis.  He loved God, seeing to it that his family was in church every Sunday.  He loved politics, and never missed an opportunity to inform anyone who would listen about his conservative values.

And all of these characteristics came together to make Pa larger than life (and the mustache certainly helped this mystique). He would often take us to the Candy Tree, which was a tree in his woods that just happened to drop candy bars if you shook it hard enough.  Every time we visited, he would take us “one-thing-shopping,” where we could, well, pick out “one thing.” This practice evolved into a Christmas tradition that still takes place. He also claimed to know Santa Claus, showing us Santa’s boot prints in his back yard.

Luckily for us grandkids, it was this sense of humor that made those annual summer trips so much fun.  And luckily for me, it was his sense of humor that kept me from getting “switched” that day.  Gran Gran, Sally, and Katherine were laughing so hard at Pa getting locked out of the car, that by the time somebody actually let him in, he was laughing too.  And luckily for Malachi Goforth Carson, he has a whole lifetime of Pa stories to look forward to (and we think the mustache is a good start).

Being a parent is hard…

Crazy Hair!

Today Malachi is two weeks old, and I still feel like I’m flying by the seat of my pants as a parent.  It’s really funny that we spent so much time over the past 9 months preparing for the actual birth and almost no time preparing for the next 18 years!  And unfortunately, the stork did not provide us with an instruction manual.  Which means I find myself asking the doctor questions like, “is it normal for babies to have so much gas?”  Normal is relative I suppose.  But like most things, there is joy in the learning process, and even more joy in being a parent!

Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep, or maybe having to adjust to the schedule of a two-week-old, but I have found that Malachi has made me paranoid.   Did you know that if babies are fed properly but not held they will not survive? It makes me want to hold that baby 24/7.  It makes me want to hold all babies.  It makes me want to check on him 1,000 times during the night.  Jenny and I ask each other, “do you think he’s o.k.” at least as often as we ask, “do you think you could change him this time.”  And we change him.  A lot.  Is that normal?  Maybe I’ll check with the doctor.

I’m A Dad! Wait, what?

Daddy and Malachi having a rest

Malachi Goforth Carson was born on November 15, 2011 at 6:46 in the morning weighing in at 8 lbs 10 oz.  To say that my life has changed in the past week would be an understatement of epic proportions.  I’m a dad now, and it’s the best thing that has ever happened to me!  I’ve been trying to come up with a word or a phrase that could describe my range of emotions, but everything just comes up short.  Suffice it to say that I’ve been overwhelmed, emotional, tired, frustrated, proud, exhausted, overjoyed, tired, grossed out, ecstatic, and tired!  It’s certainly been a ride, and I love every minute of it.  I want to share a few things about the whole experience, but you can look forward to subsequent posts about Malachi including the origin of his name and the misadventures of parenthood.

The spiritual aspect of childbirth caught me a little bit off guard.  I have said all along that having a child is a miracle, but I had no idea how much of a miracle the birthing process would be.  I’ll spare you the details, but the fact that the human body can birth another human is beyond a miracle.  My mom (Malachi’s grandmother!) referred to the event as standing on holy ground, and I think she is right.  In those first moments after he was born, I caught a glimpse of God.  Maybe it was God’s presence in the room, or maybe it was just a more complete understanding of unconditional love.  Either way, it was a holy moment that was indescribable.  God is good, friends!

I suppose I’m qualified to speak to the spiritual nature of childbirth, because I am certainly not qualified to speak on any other aspect.  When Jenny told me that her water broke, I entered into a fish-out-of-water state that would last for the next 12 hours.  I mean, how was I supposed to know that going to the hospital snack bar while my wife is in labor is a bad idea? (Note to potential dads out there: don’t go to the snack bar (or anywhere, really) while your wife is in labor.  Trust me on this one.)

So she tells me it’s time to go the hospital, and I at least wait until she jumps in the shower before I panic.  Well, visibly panic.  I held it together until she was out of sight.  She had put me in charge of packing the bags (Note to potential dads out there: pack your bags before your wife goes in to labor), which I graciously accepted.  So I venture over to my closet first, and then I proceed to freak out.  I AM ABOUT TO BE A DAD!  It was all I could think about.  I was frozen.  I tried to pick out a pair of jeans, and I couldn’t.  And I only own two pairs of jeans.  Maybe a shirt would be an easier choice?  One would think.  I got nothing.  Hmmm… I wonder how late the snack bar at the hospital is open.  Do they take debit cards?

I was in over my head big time.  This was made especially clear when I had to call the pediatrician to inform him that in a few short hours, he would have a new patient.  He took down our basic information, then asked me, “which baby is it?”  Hmmm… I had run through a list of potential questions that he might ask me before I called, and this one didn’t make the cut.  ”Uhhhhh, can you repeat the question please,” I asked.  ”Which baby is it?”  Ok, so I definitely heard him right the first time.  Which baby is it?  Which baby is it?  WHICH BABY IS IT?  Who does this guy think he is, asking me which baby it is?  ”It’s my baby, Doc.”  Ohhh mercy, definitely not the right answer.  I’m not sure exactly how he responded, but what I heard was, “You incompetent father-to-be, they should not allow people like you to procreate.  Of course it’s your baby, why else would you be calling me in the middle of the night?  Now tell me, is this her first baby?”  Welcome to fatherhood.

 

 

Gungor Performs Beautiful Things Live

This is the end of Gungor’s set at the David Crowder* Band’s 7 tour in Charlotte as they perform Beautiful Things.  Make sure you watch it all the way to the end to hear the beat box.

Haven’t I heard that before?

The Porch

I have been wrestling with this one for a while (without coming to any real conclusions),  so I want to pose it as a question.  Do you worship best when the songs/liturgy/service order are familiar to you or if everything is different and new? Here’s why I ask.

I understand that most of our worship practices are grounded in tradition.  And not just traditional in the “well that’s how grandma’s church did it” sense.  I’m talking about in the “this is the way the church worshiped 2000 years ago” sense.  Take the Apostles Creed for example.  Aaron Mansfield always says that the creed has been used to preach, teach and defend the Gospel almost as long as there has been a church.  Wow.  There’s something to that.  Grounding ourselves to tradition takes us out of the “worship style” debate because it tells us that we are a part of something that is bigger than us in the first place.  As we gather to worship, are we not gathered to tell God’s story?  Is it naive of us to assume that we can tell that story better than the early church?

Secondly, I think we are naturally drawn to that which is familiar to us.  For those of us that grew up in the church, there are few moments more engaging than a rousing rendition of “Come Thou Fount.” It triggers something deep inside of us.  A memory.  The freedom to let go and worship.  A connectedness to  all of the saints who have sung that familiar chorus over the past 275 years.  Warm fuzzies perhaps.

But is that worship?  Does familiarity with a song or prayer grow us closer to God?  My personal experience tells me that some of my best worship moments have come when I was most vulnerable.  And I am often most vulnerable when I am not comfortable.  There is more room for the Spirit to work, because true vulnerability in worship leads to real transformation.  And transformation opens us up for God’s grace to work in our lives.  And because we have experienced that transforming grace, we can better tell God’s story, no?

So what do you think?  How do you best experience God in worship?

Look at the Stars, Look How They Shine

Believe it or not, but being outside on a cold, moonless, starry night has a way of changing your perspective.

The stars are shining for Hilltop

A group of us at the Hilltop Retreat were sitting underneath the stars in the mountains above Banner Elk when we realized that we were witnessing something more powerful than a bonding moment in the good ol’ out-of-doors. Something bigger than a passing glance at mother nature. Something more real than a chance encounter with a shooting star. Perhaps it was the frigid air. Or maybe it was just being away from the city lights. Whatever it was, it was real. And to be honest, it opened up some interesting personal questions. Does my life have meaning? How could I ever hope to accomplish anything in this world when the universe seems so boundless? Am I just another cog in a machine that is so vast that at times seems incomprehensible? Is my light shining bright now but sure to fade over time? Regardless, the more I stared at the unending canvas, the more I knew that God was close by. Every star had a twinkle that spoke directly to my soul. It was a moment that let me know that I am a creature woven into the fabric of life by a magnificent creator. If God could create a masterpiece such as this, who knows what God is going to create in me!

So in this season of reflection, I am offering up songs of praise to the God who is both incredibly transcendent and irresistibly imminent. May God’s light always shine bright from within your soul.

Seryn video ” This Is Where We Are”

Seryn played at Catalyst and killed it. Watch the video and go see them live!

Be Present

Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove tells a story about Abba Antony, a desert monk from the fourth century. In trying to figure out how to best be a citizen of two kingdoms (Rome and heaven), Antony decided that he would stay put in his town in order to be present in both worlds. A pilgrim sought out Antony and asked him, “What must one do in order to please God?” Antony encouraged the pilgrim to put God first and pattern his life after the Scriptures then added, “In whatever place you find yourself, do not easily leave it.”

It is so easy to give up on community. Being present with others requires a certain amount of vulnerability and risk. It requires that we give up some of our independence in order to live life together. But is it worth the risk? Is it worth being vulnerable?

Sometimes leaving seems like the best option. The grass is greener on the other side. There is more to offer in that town than this one. The salary at that place is higher than the salary at this place. That worship band is cooler than this worship band. That speaker is more engaging than this speaker. That school has more of my friends than this school. You can do it all by yourself, you don’t need others. After all, movement equals progress, right?

What if instead you decide to stay in the place you find yourself? To grow where God has planted you. Invest in people. As Andy Stanley says, “do for one what you wish you could do for everyone.” Put down roots. Talk to your neighbors. Be vulnerable. And who knows, you might just find God in the process. Wilson-Hartgrove concludes, “if we want our very being to rise up into God’s being, nothing is more important than rooting ourselves in a place where God can happen.”

Laura Robson on The Porch