Note: If you’re not a college football fan, that’s okay. I’m not here to convert you; just plant some seeds.

College football season has finally begun and I’m allowing myself one post about it…(two if Alabama defends their national title and I have some serious gloating to do).  

With Tim Tebow out of the way, Christian bloggers are under no obligation to debate the effectiveness of biblical eye paint this season, so opportunities to write about God’s favorite sport would be limited were it not for my friend Chad Gibbs, who has written a fantastic book entitled, God and Football: Faith and Fanaticism in the SEC.  

It’s funny. It’s creative. It’s thoughtful.  And it’s SPOT ON in its depiction of the idiosyncrasies found in Southern football culture. 

Now, I have to admit that when I first heard that Chad was an Auburn fan who had defected from Alabama, I was horrified. Alabama vs. Auburn is the most serious rivalry in college football, and the thought of some Auburn fan getting paid to cover the 2009 season made my crimson blood boil. 

But as the season progressed and Alabama continued to win, I realized that this was the perfect scenario:  An Auburn fan is forced to write about the glorious comeback of his arch-rival. 

This provided Chad (and now his readers) with the opportunity for thoughtful introspection regarding the emotional hold that sports can have on our lives and the tension this can create for people of faith. It’s easier to observe this tension objectively when your team is losing, which means this book will be spiritually beneficial to everyone except Alabama fans. 

For us, it’s just one more opportunity to relive the best season we’ve had in seventeen years. (Case in point: The first chapter I read was the last chapter. The second chapter I read was the one about “The Block.” Then I started again at the beginning.) 

The book is full of some great lines that football fans will appreciate: 

• “Now twice God had guided my teams through undefeated seasons, only to break my heart in the end, once because I thought he was picking on me and now because he didn’t factor in strength of schedule.” 

• “Losing makes me introspective, which means Vanderbilt fans must be the most self-aware people on earth.” 

As well as plenty of lines that anyone with a sense of humor would appreciate:

•  "Being a Southern Baptist whose knowledge of nuns comes exclusively from Whoopi Goldberg films, I assumed the sister was actually from the Dominican Republic.”

• “I spat in the face of optimism; I urinated in the cornflakes of hope.” 

Chad’s also got a great blog you will definitely want to follow during the 2010 season. 

So that’s my football post. I’ll try to resist the temptation to rehash game day every week and instead stick with our favorite topics here: doubt, theology, faith & science, missional living, books, coffee, monkeys. 

…But be sure to look for the next football post in January. ROLL TIDE! 

 Where do your sports loyalties lie? 

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My friend Tyler Stanton has asked for an unusual birthday present this year—water for the people of Central African Republic.  And after seeing the video above, I caught his vision and joined the 30 Bloggers, 30 Days, $30,000 challenge.

3 Things to Know: 

1. 100% of your money will go to water projects. Charity: Water is a reputable and effective organization in which overhead costs are covered by private donors.  The money raised through this project will go straight to Central African Republic. 

2. I promise not to blog about this every day during the month of September, so no need to unsubscribe. 

3. $20 provides one person with clean water for 20 years!

3 Places You Might Find $20 in Your House:

1. The Closet. (I have three formal dresses in my closet that I’ve been saving for…what? The Pulitzer banquet? Who am I kidding? My prom days are over and those babies can fetch at least 20 bucks on ebay, providing a kid with safe drinking water for the next twenty years!) 

2. The Cupboard. (You know how it goes. It’s 6:00 on a Wednesday night and you realize you have nothing to make for dinner.  This time, instead of going out, go to the cupboard and make a peanut butter sandwich or waffles or a bowl of cereal…and send the $20 you saved by not eating out to Charity: Water.)

3. The Change Jar. (Like all kids, I was once tricked into thinking that sorting and rolling change is a fun game. Have your kids do the dirty work here.) 

3 Things to Do: 

1. Donate the $20 (or $10 or $5) you find and track our progress here. 

2. Spread the word (#30Water). 

3. Use the comment section to tell us where YOU found YOUR $20 (or $10 or $5) and you will automatically be entered to win a free SIGNED copy of Evolving in Monkey Town. Contest ends on Friday at midnight.

Thanks ahead of time for your ideas and contributions!

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Today’s post is my contribution to the Eighth Letter project, which invites participants to compose letters to the North American church in the spirit of John’s seven letters of Revelation.  A handful of these letters will be chosen for public reading at the Eight Letter conference in October, so if you’re interested, be sure to submit your contribution by Wednesday, September 1!

***

To the Church in North America,

I write to you as one of your own at a time when many in my generation have abandoned you.  As the Church in the Third World continues to grow, the Church in North America is in decline. Some are predicting our imminent demise, while others foresee a glorious rebirth.  Most seem to think that we’re in the midst of an identity crisis, one that will determine the shape and direction of the North American church for many years to come. 

According to the statistics, we are a people of (relative) wealth and (relative) generosity.  We control most of the world’s wealth and we give much of it away.  Though we struggle with materialism, we value charity. 

But are we people of the Kingdom? 

That is the question at the heart of this crisis, and as we struggle together to answer it, I am convinced that what we don’t need is bigger buildings or fancier sound equipment, better pastors or more parishioners, newer ministries or deeper pockets. 

What we need is bigger banquet tables. 

Jesus loved banquets. He performed his first miracle at a wedding reception in Canaan and spent so much time feasting with tax collectors and prostitutes that the religious called him a glutton. Jesus was never too busy to stop and eat—sharing fish and bread with 5,000 fans, a traditional Jewish supper with his closest disciples, and breakfast with the friend who denied him three times.  When Jesus returns, he plans to throw a great banquet in honor of his bride, The Church. How fitting that in his absence, we remember him by eating together. 

Jesus often compared his Kingdom to a great banquet that includes people from every tribe, tongue, and nation reclining at a single table (Matthew 11:11). He made it clear that this banquet table is open to all, but that the rich and powerful will likely decline his invitation because they are just too busy to stop, slow down, and feast with their neighbors. So instead, Jesus invites “the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame” so that his “house will be full” (Luke 14:16-24). 

I guess this is why Jesus tells us to do the same. “When you give a luncheon or dinner,” he instructed, “do not invite your friends, your brothers or relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed” (Luke 14:12-13).

I suspect that Jesus used all of this delicious imagery because he knew that there is a difference between feeding people and dining with people. 

Feeding people means keeping the hungry at arm’s length.  It means sending checks now and then, making Thanksgiving baskets once a year, preaching about justice, and launching new ministries…all while sitting comfortably at the head of a tiny table, dropping scraps from our abundance to the floor.  Americans are good at feeding people. 

But dining with people is an entirely different matter. Dining together means sitting next to one another and brushing arms, passing the bread basket and sharing the artichoke dip. It means double-dipping and spilling drinks, laughing together and crying together, exchanging stories, ideas, recipes, and dreams.  According to Jesus, it means leaving the seat at the head of the table ceremoniously empty so that all are guests of honor and all are hosts.  Dining together isn’t charity; it’s friendship. 

For the Church in North America to grow in a good way, we need to break down this distinction between those who serve and those who are served. The abundance must truly be shared.  At the local level, this may mean hosting literal banquets, complete with Jesus-style invitation lists. At the global level, it may mean sacrificing some of our own comforts so that when we care for our far-away neighbors we can still feel their presence beside us at the table.  In every case, it means slowing down long enough to savor both the food and the company. 

So let’s build bigger banquet tables.

Let’s eat fruit that is in season and drink coffee that is fairly traded so that Latin farmers can join us at the table with their heads held high. Let’s share the reputation of Jesus and dine with those who the religious love to hate—gays and lesbians, divorcees, single moms, junkies, dreamers, and doubters. Let’s squeeze in a little tighter to make enough room for people of all political persuasions, all religious backgrounds, all ethnicities, and all denominations. Let’s eat a little less so that everyone has enough and let’s linger a little longer so that everyone gets a chance to share what’s on their mind. Let’s invite the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame so that our house will always be full. 

***

So what would you say in a letter to the North American Church? Feel free to use the comment section to add a P.S. or share an excerpt from your entry. (If you can condense it into a tweet, use #8thletter, @eighthletter.)

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I'm so pleased to share this guest post from my awesome little sister, Amanda. Amanda lives in Nashville with her husband Tim and works for the Christian Women's Job Corp. When she was little, she went through this weird phase where she was convinced her throat was closing up, so she wouldn't eat anything. But as you will see in this post, it seems that these days Amanda's not really afraid of anything. I'm proud beyond words. 

***

 Dateline recently ran a special with Brian Williams called "Hurricane Katrina: the First Five Days"  The images struck me afresh: families punching their way out of attics, the looting, bodies floating face down in the water.  

But the most alarming shots were perhaps those taken at the Superdome and convention center, where thousands of people were crammed like sardines for five days with hardly anything to eat or drink.  They had gathered in those designated locations at the request of the authorities, yet after Katrina hit, the authorities all but vanished, and day after day went by without any sign of help.  They were stuck.

With no sanitation and 95 degree heat, fear and desperation set in.  There are hours of footage of frantic mothers crying out to the mayor, the governor, or the president to please come and bring food for her children.  Old people died in their wheelchairs. And while the media was able to reach the masses, somehow, the national guard and FEMA were not.  As Brian Williams said, a few simple air drops of food and water could have saved lives.  But the help came too late.

As I look at the faces in that crowd at the Superdome and Convention Center, I notice that while the people there are of all ages, they seem to have a few things in common.  Most are minorities, and most appear to be low income.  It was, in fact, the poor of New Orleans, who had gathered in these "safe places"- the poor who had no cars to drive to Baton Rouge, no family members or friends to stay with, and no money for hotels.  

I can't help but wonder why America did not howl in outrage over the images that came in those first five days.  Why did we not demand that help be sent?  Was it that the people in the photos did not remind us enough of ourselves?  Did we mistake the video as being that of a third world autocracy?  

I worry that the evangelical community has a narrow understanding of what an "American" is.  We tend to stick in our suburban, middle class sanctuaries- we are inundated by a world of upper class media and entertainment.  If we choose not to drive out of our neighborhoods, we have no way of knowing anything else exists in our country.  Yet in Nashville, 36% of families with young children live in poverty.  That's 73,000 people.   41% don't have a high school education, and thousands more go without food on a regular basis.  That's America.  

I began working at the Christian Women's Job Corp (a non-profit that provides education and mentoring for low income women) about 2 years ago, and have heard stories come out of this city that you wouldn't believe.  Just yesterday, I met a woman who was sexually assaulted by her mother's boyfriend for 5 years- finally, at age nine, she began to cut herself so that the boyfriend would be sickened by the blood and leave her alone.  I can still see the scars on her arm.  And we wonder why she has a hard time holding down a job!

I've met women who survive on tuna and peanut butter.  I've met women who've never slept in a bed of their own.  I've met women who remember burning crosses being staked in their front yards.  I've met women who sleep with their abusive boyfriends because that boyfriend is the only ride they have to work.  Those were the type of women who were stuck in that Super Dome, and for whatever reason, they were not worth an air drop.

A friend asked me the other day , "Do you ever get tired of working with 'those people'?"  I didn't have to ask what he meant by "those people"- he was thinking of a woman on welfare, probably with darker skin than mine or his, probably toting around 3 children, probably dressed in a mis-matched top and sweatpants- probably overweight (45% of women in poverty are overweight due to lack of fresh food at local markets and high levels of the stress hormone cortisol).  

But behind every woman like that you see on the street is a story, a lifetime of pain and a head full of dwindling hope. Sometimes I do get tired, but I am convinced that poverty is not simply the result of laziness.  It is the result of generational deprivation, poor education, racism, class-ism, etc.......and then, of course, really bad decisions.  But those decisions are not made in a vacuum.  And I wonder if somehow my middle class lifestyle, and my ignorance helped to sustain that environment in which such dreadful depravity is cultivated.   

 Friday night, my husband and I were driving in a low income neighborhood, known for high crime rates.  I said, "This is not safe for us."  Tim said, "We shouldn't be here."  But then we looked at each other and realized what we'd said.  The truth is, if it's not safe for me and Tim, it's not safe for anyone.  It's not safe for that woman in her McDonald's uniform walking home from work.  It's not safe for that African American man with the grocery bags.  Their lives are worth just as much as ours, but I fear, were they to be attacked or robbed, no one would take notice.  

Last year, a little boy was shot and killed on the floor above one of my student's public housing apartment.  I did not hear a thing about it on the news.  The Dateline special showed a little girl from New Orleans crying out for her dead grandmother.  Do we not think that her pain is as real as ours?  Her dreams not as important?  Her life not as valuable?

I hope, in the aftermath of Katrina, we pay attention to what those waters washed up.  We saw the face of American poverty. We don't have to go to Africa or Asia to find people in need.  They are a mile down the road, and it will take all of us, every church member mobilized and moving in order to alleviate the suffering and need.  Someone once said that God is not looking for our spare change.  He is looking for our very lives.  Are "those people" worth giving it up for?

***

Can you see why I am proud of my little sister? If this post resonated with you, please share it with your friends or consider making a donation to the Christian Women's Job Corp. I can assure you that the money will be well-spent because Amanda and her team will be the ones spending it! 

Do you think the evangelical community has a narrow view of what "American" is? How can we address this? 

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Friendly Atheist:  On Tuesday I wrote a post for Relevant Online about Christianity and evolution that generated a lively discussion, particularly over at Friendly Atheist, where Hemant Mehta argues that it’s not enough to say that the evidence supports evolution; one must concede that the evidence rules God out completely.  I find it kind of ironic that both Mehta and creationist Ken Ham have essentially agreed!  They both insist that I have to choose between loving God and accepting evolution.

Steve Brown Etc.: Today at noon I’ll be interviewed on the Steve Brown Etc. radio show. I’m slowly but surely getting the hang of these radio interviews, and I never really know what to expect, so wish me luck! 

Whew! I’ve shared enough links to keep you online for a while. Now it’s your turn.  Use the comment section today to share a post from your own blog or a link to something that caught your eye. 

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So I’m reading a really challenging book by Shane Claiborne and Shawn Perkins called Follow Me to Freedom. Although it’s technically a leadership book, the conversational approach makes it a helpful resource for anyone who wants to inspire others to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.  I’m thankful to my friend Meredith for recommending it.

In Chapter 1, Claiborne makes an observation that has haunted me ever since I read it. It’s about interruptions: 

"Interruptions are a theme in Scripture. We have a God who is continually interrupting us—interrupting our routines, our patterns of inequity, the status quo…The gospels are stories of interruption after interruption. Jesus was at a wedding in Cana when His mother interrupted Him and said, ‘They have no more wine.’ He had just stepped ashore in a region called Gerasenes when he was interrupted by the cries of a demon-possessed man. He was on His way to visit a sick child when a touch on His sleeve interrupted Him and He felt the power go out from Him. The incredible thing is that Jesus was always available and attentive to the interruptions and surprises, like someone who stops to fix a flat tire for a stranded motorist. Jesus was never so fixed on His vision for the Kingdom that He missed the needs of folks right next to Him. Sometimes Jesus even gets yelled at for stopping to hang out with the kids…

Most days, our life in Philly feels like one interruption after another. It is packed with surprises: a knock at the door, an emergency, or a kid who wants to show us the first sunflower bud.  It seems that these are the very things so many of us try to squeeze out of our lives. We love predictability. We don’t want anything to alter our course, even if we know there is something beautiful on the other end of the interruption (p. 28-29)." 

I found this particularly convicting, as I tend to be fiercely protective of my time.  I’m a goal-setter and a planner, and once I get on-task, there’s nothing you can do to stop me.  I don’t like veering off track, and I don’t like interruptions. I get annoyed when the phone rings or there’s a knock at the door. 

And yet some of the best, most important moments of my life have been the result of interruptions—unannounced company, unforeseen changes, long conversations, sudden calls for help, once-in-a-lifetime opportunities, roads less traveled,  change of plans, and little unexpected moments of abandon. And when I think about what made Uncle Gary special to so many people, it was the fact that he always had time for others.  He was never too busy to talk. 

I’m not exactly sure how to do it, but I want to become more open to interruptions. I don’t want to miss any more opportunities to strengthen friendships or fellowship with strangers or see the divine in the little things. This may mean a change in pace or a shift in priorities. It may even mean missing a deadline now and then.

But something tells me it will be worth it. 

Can you think of a time when an interruption turned into something really beautiful?  How do we become more open to interruptions in our day-to-day lives? (I would love to hear from parents, who I suspect deal with interruptions most frequently!)

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Tony’s statement stood out to me, as I had never really considered the plight of Muslim Americans before. Now his words seem almost prophetic, as news of protests and book burnings fill the airwaves each night.

It is of course frustrating to watch as some of the same folks who so passionately defend the second amendment seem ready to do away with the first when it applies to someone else’s freedom to worship. But far more troublesome to me is the fact that many Christians are passionately protesting the building of Islamic community centers in New York and Mufreesboro on the basis that such centers are “offensive” or that they “threaten the American way of life.”

Have these Christians forgotten that our first allegiance is not to our own interests or to the “American way of life,” but rather to the Kingdom of Heaven?

When God decided to wrap himself up in flesh and live among us, he placed himself in the context of perhaps the most oppressive and cruel empires in history. Those listening to him would have had clear memories of injustice, ridicule, heavy taxation, and even genocide at the hands of the tyrannical Roman government. And yet to those who had every right to fight back, every right to be biter and offended, Jesus said:

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.  Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven…Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you…. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles.”

Jesus remained faithful to these teachings all the way to the cross and they were so diligently observed by the first Christians that they refused to fight back in the midst of terrible persecution. One wonders how we went from boldly declaring the gospel from dungeons and stoning pits to complaining to upper management when department stores don’t play Christian music at Christmastime.

There is a tragic disconnect from the way of Jesus when Christians join the chorus of those saying, “We will respect your faith when you respect ours” or “You can build a mosque in New York when we can build a church at Mecca.”  Jesus did not teach us to be good to those who are good to us and tolerant of those who are tolerant of us. As he pointed out, “If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that?”

What makes us different is that we love when we’re not supposed to. We love unconditionally.

Of course, implying that all Muslims are violent extremists and therefore fit into the category of “enemy” is about the same as implying that all Catholics molest children or that all evangelicals sympathize with Westboro Baptist Church. So we must give our Muslim neighbors the benefit of the doubt before assuming motive. But even if the builders of these centers are doing so with anti-American sentiments or for the purpose of ridicule, how should Christians respond?

Sarah Cunningham said it well in a post on the Q blog, where she wrote:

Regardless of our personal political beliefs or the outcome of this scenario, Jesus did not come as a political revolutionary but as one bearing a message of transcendent spiritual truth. Part of his example, although unconventional and unpopular in the wider pop-culture, was a mandate to “love our neighbors,” to “love our enemies,” and to “pray for those who persecute us.” No matter how you view these Muslims, I am certain that at least one of these apply. The Christian faith maintains that God loves and wants relationship with every person on every side of this argument.

As the country becomes more ethnically and religiously diverse, there will be those who say the Church can only survive if we fight to the death to preserve our civic religion—keeping prayer in public schools, keeping the Ten Commandments in courthouses, and keeping mosques out of our neighborhoods. But I am convinced that the only way for the Church to survive in a post-Christian world is to do the exact opposite.  We must preserve our identity as a distinct, set apart Kingdom that does things Jesus’ way—not the world’s way, not even America’s way. We must continue to grow and expand, not through a sense of entitlement or a fight for power, but through unconditional service and love.

The constitution dictates that Muslims should be able to worship when and where they please.

Compassion compels us to reach out to those who are still hurting from 9-11 and who are understandably struggling to forgive.

And the way of Jesus calls us to love whichever individuals in this story are hardest for us to love.

…Guess I should say a prayer for Glenn Beck. 

What is your perspective on the recent mosque debates? To which side do you find it hardest to extend grace and peace?

(Photo by FreeBirD)  

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I must confess that it’s been hard to get back into the routine after saying goodbye to Uncle Gary earlier this week.  My heart is still heavy, my brain still foggy. I find myself bursting into tears at the oddest moments—waiting at a stoplight, strolling down the cereal aisle, getting the mail. 

It’s hard to write about anything else because my mind keeps returning to certain images and scenes that I suspect will be with me always:

 - The line of people that stretched down the aisle, out the door, and around the building at Uncle Gary’s viewing. It appears that over 900 people paid their respects this weekend.  As the pastor said, “Gary didn’t know any strangers.”

 - The way Aunt Joan, Julie, Sarah, Keith, and Gabe greeted all of them, standing for hours at the front of the chapel. 

- The variety of people who shared memories of Uncle Gary at the funeral—a student, a racquetball companion, a son-in-law, a friend, a colleague, my sister, and a handicapped kid whose stories we could barely make out on account of his disability but who clearly had a special connection to this man who treated everyone with equal respect and love

- The stack of Evolving in Monkey Town postcards Dad found on Uncle Gary’s desk.  

- The workmen who took off their hats as the funeral procession drove by. 

Doubt has been a part of my life for a few years now, but this is the first time I’ve grieved with it.  

One would think that this would make a highly religious service somewhat troublesome, but instead I found great comfort in the Christian rituals of grief.  Despite those nagging questions that surfaced now and then, I was able to affirm with fellow Christ-followers that we do not grieve as those who have no hope.  The last time I saw Uncle Gary was on Resurrection Sunday, and because of Easter, I have hope of greeting Uncle Gary once again.  Hope does not require certainty. Hope simply requires faith in the midst of uncertainty. 

What I loved about the rituals of grief—the viewing, the flowers, the stories, the songs, the laughter, the sobbing, the burial—was that they forced me to keep moving, to avoid getting stuck in a place of despair.  The ritual served as a vehicle for grief, just as communion serves as a vehicle for memory and baptism as a vehicle for renewal.  

The older I get, the more I long for such rituals. They have a strange way of calling an internal truce between the skeptic in me and the believer in me by forcing me to act, to make a decision of faith in that moment.  I may simply be “going through the motions,” but at least I’m moving.

As I’ve spoken with young evangelicals across the country, I’ve found that many of them are rediscovering the Church’s ancient commitment to ritual. They follow the church calendar. They incorporate traditional prayers and icons into their services. They observe the Eucharist weekly and the liturgy of the hours daily. Young adulthood is perhaps the perfect time to rediscover ritual because we are old enough to appreciate the meaning and young enough to make it a habit.  I think that this is a good development for the evangelical Church and I hope it continues to blossom. 

Ritual helped me move through grief with my faith intact. Something tells me I’m going to need more of it as I move through acceptance, peace, and maybe even joy. 

***

How has ritual preserved or enhanced your faith? Do you sense a return to ritual among young Christians?  

Fellow skeptics—How does doubt affect your grief? 

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You can listen/watch live here.

If you miss it, check out the previously recorded shows.

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He was more like a second father to Amanda and me as we grew up alongside his two beautiful daughters—Julie and Sarah—during our time in Birmingham.  

Uncle Gary was at every awards ceremony, every talent show, every birthday party, every swimming lesson, every seemingly endless Christmas program at Parkway Christian Academy. He brought with him a disarming sense of humor and warm Southern charm that was gentle and infectious and pure. Even as a child I recognized him as an old soul.

Whenever James Spann issued a tornado warning for Jefferson County, the Greene family would rush over to our house to take shelter in our musty basement. Somehow Uncle Gary would get us all laughing about how silly we looked huddled around the TV in our pajamas and we would forget to be afraid. 

We lived for sleepovers back then, so Uncle Gary tucked us in at night more times than I can count. With a twinkle in his eye, he would promise Julie that he would leave the music on, see that Sarah had Little Lamb and Trudy tucked safely under her arms, and assure Amanda once again that Large Marge didn’t live in the closet. Before we went to sleep, we liked to listen to this Sandi Patty song about love in every language, which Uncle Gary was particularly fond of because the Japanese part sounded as if Sandi was singing “I like my broccoli blue.”  He sang this part the loudest, and we giggled long after he had left the room. 

Uncle Gary was the kind of man who saw the sacred everywhere. From a game of racquetball, to a steaming bowl of grits, to an acoustic jam session, to his beloved Andy Griffith Show, he seemed to walk through life with an easy, delighted reverence for what God has made. He found wonder not only in Scripture, but in Flannery O’Conner and Gerard Manley Hopkins. He worshipped not only in church, but in the classroom, on mountain trails, in his office, and in his home.

Perhaps this is why Uncle Gary had a reputation for making people feel good about themselves. He was always looking for the best in us, that spark of the divine. 

A student has noted that in one of his last chapel sermons, Uncle Gary spoke about John 11, the passage that includes the shortest verse in the Bible: “Jesus Wept.”

 “What is more profound,” Uncle Gary asked, “Having a God who raises the dead or having a God who will weep with you in your pain?” 

Uncle Gary wasn't a radical. He didn’t sell all of his things to live among the poor. He didn’t perform miracles. He didn’t raise the dead. But like Jesus, he wept with us, laughed with us, prayed with us, and loved us. He was radically faithful in the little things. 

As I read through the wave of heartfelt messages left for the Greenes on Facebook, I was overwhelmed by how many people have been touched by Uncle Gary over the years.  People remember his sense of humor, his strength of character, his mad guitar skills, his silly skits, his love for life, his tenderness and humility. They recall the times when he went out of his way to help, the times he brought laughter to the mundane, the times he made scary things seem small, and the times when he was just there when they needed him. 

It seems he was as good to everyone as he would be to his own family. 

In a way, he was everyone’s Uncle Gary. 

***

Please pray for the Greene family and all who love them this weekend as we say goodbye to Uncle Gary, who died suddenly Thursday afternoon of an apparent heart attack. Our grief is hard to put into words.

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