Archives for category: Art

My son, Nate, made me promise to start exercising when I got home. We were in Michigan visiting him and, apparently, he got the impression my days are numbered and maybe we could speed things along by putting me on an exercise bike.

So, okay, I turned 71 yesterday and today I started my new exercise regimen. Here’s my starting point: acute bronchitis, weight 249, atrophy nearing completion, and ambition approaching absolute zero.

Day 1

✅ I’m putting today in the “win” column. My goal was to make a start and not die. I went for a walk to my pond with my not so faithful dog and a cane.

That pace is just above no movement at all. I have to stop for the occasional pep talk or taking photos of flowers. The horseflies aren’t out yet, but the pterodactyl mosquitoes are. In the future there will be insect repellent prepping. I got home without assistance, found a tick, washed my clothes and showered. Is it worth it?

Day 2

It’s only noon, but I feel like I’m done. Yard work: there’s no joy in it, but you feel obligated to do it; it requires physical labor and yields discomfort; nothing meaningful is ever accomplished. So it’s just like exercise, right? Okay, I’m done. Sadly, I forgot to put my watch on so it’s like it never happened.

Day 3

This is just plain old work. Today’s walk started with stinky insect repellent and was early enough to be pleasantly cool. My white dog always has to go along which rules out the easy walk on our county road. She didn’t have a collar on, so when the county maintainer rolled by I had to stop and hold her by the nap of her neck until it was out of sight. Here’s the stats:

Day 4

I’m dying here. My wife and I are in Fredericksburg, TX, to help a nephew move. Seemed like a good idea to come down a day early so I could visit art galleries and she could shop. I walked around early so I could take photos before cars filled the street and people clogged up the sidewalk.

Then I walked again as she shopped. Now I’m dying. Okay, not really dying – just whining.

I’m an old man, relatively speaking. What that means, among other things, is that I’ve accumulated a lot of experiences and some of my faculties are less reliable than they once were. So before I forget, I have a story to tell. It’s an important story and one that members of my family should know, but I’m not sure I’ve ever told them. It has to do with the meaning of names and how life plays out…

My name is Marvin Thomas Smith. I’ve never really felt comfortable with my name and I’m not sure why. Marvin is the part that never felt just right. My dad’s name was also Marvin, but my parents always called me Tommy when I was young. “Marvin” means “the mariner” and associates the named person with the sea. As I write this I’m in Navarre, Florida, listening to the waves on the Gulf of Mexico pounding on the shore at 3:00 in the morning. I’ve spent all of my life on land, far from the sea. I like the ocean but it is very foreign to me and I can’t swim worth a damn.

I shortened “Tommy” to just “Tom” when I was in high school. I don’t recall how I accomplished that, other than introducing myself to people that way and hoping it would stick. Again, I really don’t remember why it was a big deal for me, but it was. “Thomas” means “the Twin”, which is weird because I’m just one person. I never had a brother or a twin. I had a sister, “Jodie”, who was five years older than me. Jodie is derived from Jody, Judy, Judith, all the way back to the Hebrew “Yehudt” which means “Praise”. My sister’s actual name was “Norma Jo” which came from my father’s middle name “Norman” referring to Norsemen or “from the north”.

My sister never seemed excited about having a baby brother. That’s understandable because I was a brat and very little enjoyment was to be had from my company. Yet, my mother, “Billie Jo”, told me that the five years between my sister’s birth and my own were years of longing for another child (this is the gist of my story) and never gave up that hope. My mother wanted me to know that she and my dad had hoped and prayed for me before I came along. That I was not an accident.

This gathering I’m presently attending is one of the few chances for everyone of my children and their families to be together for a few days and the only time, possibly the last time, to gather at a vacation spot like this house on the beach. We have planned it for months and looked forward to the time with great anticipation. But let’s face it — I’m not much fun to be around. I don’t have a lot of patience and I’m not very funny or entertaining. I’m awake right now writing this story because I now realize that the telling of it is the reason I’m here. I need to set the record straight and pass this story down to those that might remember it. So here’s the tale:

I never thought I would marry. After ruining several brief relationships I finally gave up and turned it over to God. There was nothing I wanted more than to be in a family, to find a wife and raise a family, but I was adrift in a sea of failure without any bearing as to where I should go or how to get there. I was tired of screwing everything up and disappointing everyone I knew. I quit. I finally accepted that it probably wasn’t going to happen and that was okay. I had a long struggle with faith, but I read the Bible, several versions, enough to know just to give it up to God and try to see what He set before me.

Then He sent me to Linda. Praise God. God clearly heard my prayer, knew my heart’s desire, and blessed me though I deserved it not. The Germanic source of “Linda” may mean “soft or tender”, but the Spanish meaning is “pretty”. Linda was and is beautiful. She is caring and wise. I’m not sure why God led her to suffering with the likes of me, but she has endured it and held fast through the worst of it so far. God bless her.

Linda already had Sam, though he was just a baby, when I met her. “Samuell” is derived from the Hebrew “shemuel” or “the name of God”. When I married Linda I had to become a surrogate father in a very short time and, once again, I had no idea how to do that. Truth is, I failed at both being a father and at being a husband. I was self centered, stupid, and often mean. Not cruel, I was never cruel, but a failure. I prayed about my failures. I asked for help, strength, and guidance. I didn’t give up and I tried to become better. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better person. It’s hard to do.

Linda was from a big family, we wanted to have more children. It wasn’t long before Sarah was born. Of course, “Sarah” means “princess” and her middle name “Elizabeth” means “God is my oath”. We have a lot of Hebrew names in the family. Like I said, my memory is becoming questionable, but some events are burned into memory more deeply than others — I clearly remember Sarah’s birth, the first I ever witnessed, and decided then and there that every teenage boy should be required to witness a birth before he can ever become sexually active. Really. (I would say girls should too, but I now realize men are way to involved in making decisions for women.) That requirement would probably be an effective form of birth control for most guys.

After Sarah was born, we tried to have another child for a long time. Linda miscarried twice and it broke my heart. I can’t imagine how much more it affected her. Not wanting her to endure that again, we took precautions (that means birth control) for a while, but eventually we concluded that we weren’t able to have another child. I always wanted another child. I know she did, too. It’s strange the places and times that the longing for a child strikes you. When I walked down the aisle of a grocery that had diapers or baby food, I would always think of what it would be like to have another baby. Oh well.

Which brings to story forward a few years to another vacation. Linda and I were “empty nesters” when Sarah went to college and we took a trip to Beaver’s Bend with one of her sisters and her sisters husband. We had a nice time and canoed down the river. Just before heading home we went out to eat at a restaurant (again, this is burned in my memory) where my devious wife brought up the question of what would it be like to have another baby “this late in life?” My in-laws’ reactions were immediate and certain – it would be awful, it would ruin everything. I remember very clearly say that I disagree. It would be an adventure, a blessing. When we said our goodbyes and got into our car for the drive home, Linda told me she was pregnant. I was happy. I was worried something might go wrong again, but happy — excited.

We spent more time than before picking out a name. Because of our age, the doctor did a lot of testing. So we knew our baby was a boy. One of the tests called for drawing some amniotic fluid to test for Down syndrome. We refused that test because of the potential risk. What was the point? Regardless of the outcome we were going to have the child anyway. It was all in God’s hands, so we prayed and hoped. Linda wanted to name him “Henry” so I jokingly said “Harley”, but I finally convinced her to continue the Bible name tradition by naming him “Nathaniel”. This name fit better than any other. It means”God’s gift”. That’s what my son was and is — a Gift from God. I thank God for His gift. For a long time, I resisted the shortening of his name to Nate because it somehow diminished the meaning of his name.

There haven’t been many times in my life that I knew God was putting something before me, not many times when I was sure of it. Having the conviction and courage to follow the path when I was sure it was set before me — that’s even more rare. When Nathaniel was only six or seven, God moved me to do something completely out of my character. I convinced Linda that we needed to adopt another child. Everyone argued against it. I’m not really any better at parenting now than I was when Sam was a baby, but I’m still trying. Our youngest son Tsegaye was clearly a blessing to our family from God. His name? It means “God’s grace.”

Last night, here by the sea, we celebrated the engagement of my grandson to his soon to be wife. It was also the anniversary of Sam and Stephanie’s wedding. Auspicious occasions both, and memories were made. But in the conversations that followed someone commented that Nathaniel was “an accident”. Now I’m the king of stupid statements, so I’m not trying to denigrate the one who made the statement. I don’t know who said it and I’m certain I’ve said far worse myself in the last few days. So I’m sure they didn’t mean it to be taken that way, but it was hurtful and factually incorrect. I’ve stayed up most of the night thinking and writing to try tell this story that should be important to our family. An “accident” implies more than “unintended”. It suggests that the results are less worthy than a planned and predicted outcome. That’s not a description of my son, Nathaniel, or a fitting description of any child. No child was more hoped for, loved, or valued than him. Regardless of how or when a child was conceived, they are a person of equal worth to all the rest of us.

Thank you, families everywhere, for loving and enduring. It isn’t easy or even common anymore to keep a family together. It takes commitment and compassion, forgiveness and endurance, it takes God, faith, oaths and gifts and grace.

Even the bad news is good news

Went to church today and the message was spot on. Our minister’s message was about learning to look at all of our life through the lens of Jesus’ teachings. Our decisions, actions, work, conversations, positions, values… all that we are, should be guided by, and based upon, those lessons that we have learned from the stories of Jesus.

It truly is Good News that God loves us and that Jesus has redeemed us through His sacrificial death. And now, if we choose to accept that we are sinners and recognize that our path to redemption, to returning God’s love, is to listen to Christ, to follow His path… then we have our work cut out for us.

“Many are called, but few are chosen.” (Matthew 22:14) He died for everyone, we all have that freely given offer of salvation, but following Jesus’ teachings runs contrary to human nature. Evolution has given us instincts to favor survival — yet Christ calls us to serve others. When we are in danger or attacked, our nature calls us to fight or flight — yet Christ tells us to turn the other cheek when someone strikes us, that if someone demands we give them our coat, to give our shirt as well. And that is just the easy stuff: it gets harder, my friend.

Following Christ’s teachings is choosing to pass through the “narrow gate” (Matthew 7:13), while being led by our instincts, following human nature, is walking down that “wide road” and entering into the “broad gate”.

It’s not the easy way, not popular or safe, so not many go that way. In fact, it’s impossible. To learn the way that Jesus teaches us to live, and then to actually live that way (to look at all you do through the lens of His teachings) — as much as you may want to do this, you will fail. As much as you may believe that this right, that it true, that it is good —you will fail.

More Good News: even though living a Christ centered life is impossible for us, for God all things are possible. I’m really happy about this and I want to share it with you because I’m the most retched sinner I know. There’s no hope for me but for the Grace of God. As my minister once said, if I believe that God exists, that the wages of sin are death (eternal separation from God), that Jesus really was the Son of God who redeemed us, paying the price of our sin by dying on the Cross so that we may be saved (reunited with God) – if I believe all this to be true, then how much would I have to hate you to not want to share it with you?

Yes, I know it bores you, makes you mad, sounds silly or stupid. But the fact is I love you and want you to know this story. Please humor me and read on. How about this? If you read to the end and it still sounds stupid, leave a comment and tell me where I went wrong. Deal?


Why do people believe in God? I’m sure there are countless reasons, some that are beyond my grasp. Some say that they believe:

  • In order to make sense of it all,
  • Because they grew up in the church,
  • Because they want to be good,
  • Because they hope for eternal life

Why do people choose not to believe in God? Again, there are as many reasons as unbelievers, but I’ve heard (even shared) a few:

  • Because religious people are sometimes so bad,
  • Because there are so many contradictions in Bible,
  • Because it’s just a myth,
  • Because they can’t see God,
  • Because science renders God unnecessary or impossible.

Another necessary question, one that I’ll get to later, is: what does it mean to “believe” in God.

All I can honestly do is to tell you why I believe in God. Here’s my story:


When I was a boy, my parents went to Church. At least they frequently went to church. I was blessed with two good parents and an extended family that, as far as I know, usually went to church. My parents took my sister and I to the Baptist Church. I went to Sunday school, heard Bible stories, sang songs, then sat with my parents during the service and mostly drew on the program. Doodles, really. Mostly armies of stick figures in battles, driving tanks, and jumping out of planes with parachutes. I think that’s fairly normal. But there were bits of dogma that snuck in through the sermons and songs and lessons. I knew I was a Christian. After all, my parents were Christians, right? So basically, I took in on authority that God exists, Christ was the only sinless human, He died for us. Makes sense. Kind of.

Then sometimes things came up and we didn’t go to Church. Maybe we went to see Grandma instead, or went to the lake, or just stayed home. There was a fairly extended period where we just didn’t go. I think my dad had an existential crisis and lost commitment to regular attendance. My dad worked on a transmission line construction crew with Texas Power and Light and he was gone a lot. He was also very tanned. When I was in kindergarten or first grade I asked my mom, “In Sunday School we sing that song about Jesus loving the little children, you know, all the children of the world? Red and yellow, black and white? Mom, what color is my dad?” This wasn’t a racist question. I was just curious and really wanted to know. Turns out he was white and I had just created one of those family stories that lived forever.

After a few years of skipping church, my mom says to heck with this – if I’m going to take the kids to church by myself then I’m picking the denomination. So my sister and I began attending the Christian Church. Yep, in addition to the Baptists, Methodists, Presbyterians, Lutherans, Pentecosts, Catholics, and Seventh Day Adventists, there was a denomination of Protestants that simply called themselves “Christian”. I’m sure there is a story there somewhere. Anyway, we’re getting dressed up, going to Sunday School, doodling through sermons and the occasional baptism when one day, riding home in the car, I asked my mom, “If God created all the Heavens and the Earth, then who created God?” I bet you asked the same thing, right? Seems innocent enough. Well, mom didn’t answer that question for me. Nope. She said I should ask the preacher, so I naively agreed to setting an appointment with the guy up front who talks during the doodle ceremony. And what do you think happened? Yep, he didn’t answer that question either. Just said that there are some things that are mysteries to us mere mortals and we would have to wait until we met God and then He could tell us.

I had some other questions, like why was Heaven up and Hell down since, with the Earth rotating and all, those were really the same direction, and what about animals souls? And how do we know other religions have it wrong? But I was never going to be able to ask anymore questions because he’d already launched the what it means to be saved speech and convinced me to be baptized next Sunday. Now, I had my doubts about all of this, but I didn’t want the preacher to think I was a heathen, so a week later I was all wet. Confused, hopeful, and now a little bit guilt ridden about pretending to be “saved” when I really didn’t think I deserved it. You see, at the time I was in the fifth grade and at the height of my cussing career. I was also quite interested in sex even though I didn’t know a thing about it.

As you might have guessed, what followed was another extended period of skipping church entirely. I soon developed from a bratty kid into a totally deplorable teen, found absolutely no interest in sports, couldn’t find my place anywhere in the junior high social hierarchy, and escaped into motorcycling with a few other rejects. About this time I slowly started questioning everything. Like haircuts. And why all this schooling when we’re apparently all going to die in a nuclear war. And patriotism: the loudest all American rednecks seemed to hate me and my two or three friends who just want to cruise around, listen to a little rock ‘n roll before we get drafted and shot at. So, religion? That’s just a crutch for the weak and wounded. My parents were wrong about that just like everything else. We’re all on our on here. You only live once, right? I guess I’m an atheist.

Except… I like to read. I liked to read everything. And I like being skeptical. So I read the books my sister was reading in high school. Things like Brave New World, Black Like Me, and Siddhartha. Then there girls, and drugs, and Vietnam War protests, and mathematics. So, yeah, I’m an atheist and reading Darwin, and Thomas Henry Huxley, and then in college, there’s philosophy and logic and… wait a minute: I loved Aldous Huxley ‘s work and I’m reading “The Perineal Philosophy” when I’m forced to realize that it takes more faith to be an atheist than to be a believer. So, I guess I’m agnostic. I mean, I don’t know. Am I?

Next comes heartaches, searching for meaning in life, dropping out of college, living in a tent, seriously hard labor, and living on a shoestring budget. And during all this I’m reading the Bible. I’d never read it before. I must have read a thousand books, but never the Bible. For some reason, it seemed unreadable. Too long, even though I’d read books that were longer, even trilogies and series. I’d read science fiction, textbooks, encyclopedias, philosophy, poetry, fiction… everything except for the Bible. Too remote, even though I’d been hearing snippets all my life. But now I read it front to back, three times: first King James, then the Revised Standard Version, and the Living Bible. I still have my copies of the last two (King James was borrowed). What I had assumed was an anthology of cultural fables began to read like an authentic historical accounting. If this had been made up, they would have cleaned it up a lot more so that it would at least appear believable. This book is explaining, in the best available terminology of the authors, events and knowledge that are beyond human comprehension. It has been handed down as an oral tradition, recorded by many people, copied by hand countless times, edited and sometimes condemned and destroyed, translated repeatedly, and always fought over. It is is filled with contradictions and duplication, it is miss used and completely misunderstood. It rings true to me.

The Bible had put me off before because of the insistence that it was the unerring, divinely inspired Word of God. There was never any mention in church of how scribes May have changed the scriptures, of of how translations cannot retain original means, or of the influences of Constantine or “canonization” by groups of men such as the Council of Trent. But most of all, it had seemed to me that it was the Bible that was being worshipped, not God. I think these feelings toward the Bible were mostly handed to me from men who couldn’t answer questions.

At some point during that third reading, I think it was in Acts, I stopped. It was in the middle of the night, after a marathon reading session, and I’d reached an impasse. I said this prayer or something like it: “God, I really don’t know if you are there or not. I want you to be there, hearing this. I want to believe you are there. I want to believe there is a soul, and eternity, meaning and value, good and a purpose for living. I want to learn to love and serve you. But I’m unsure. I don’t know how to have faith. I’m not able to make that leap on my own. I’m asking you to help me. I need you to show me in some way how to believe.”

In that very moment I felt God there with me. I’m tempted to say, “God’s presence” but that doesn’t seem adequate. It was like flipping a switch and suddenly I knew God was in the room with me and everywhere else. Everywhere. Beyond where. I didn’t understand, I felt. And I also knew instantly that this was forever, that I could never forget and never doubt or deny. In just the same way that I could “know” or “be sure” that a friend was with me – present there with me at that time and place – I knew that God was with me, but more so. I cannot explain that experience further. I can’t share it any better than with those words. I wish I could. I was given what I asked for and I want you to know about it. I wish I could say that I was suddenly a better person, but I am still the same sinner I was before. It’s just that now I’m thankful — I know I’m blessed. I know God loves us.

Since that moment, I’ve had a multitude of experiences and realizations that are equally difficult to convey. For example, I know that God hears my prayers. Prayers are conversations with God. Sadly, I talk far better than I listen. We tend to consider prayer as asking for help, like I did, but it’s okay to not say anything. Just try to be quiet for a little while and open some space in your life to make room for God. Most of the time I don’t even know what to ask God for, but He knows what we need. (Ephesians 3:20) What God desires for us is far beyond anything we can conceive of. But, in our misunderstanding, we often think that what is Good means what is blissful, pleasant, and happy. We know so little and are so sure of ourselves.


So, what does it mean to “believe” in God? That’s called faith. I realize that I’m out of my depth talking about faith.

To have faith, to believe in God, commits you to action, to service. It means you’re no longer on your own. As a Christian, you have to start but learning all you can about Christ. Learn his teachings and follow them: be open to dreams. To believe in God, to have faith, means that your own desires, those that elevate you and your position, don’t really have a compass other than preservation and following human nature. Dreams from God, His plan for you, if you trust Him, are vastly better- but more challenging.

God will put a vision before you and then you have to be prepared to exercise your faith in seeing that vision fulfilled. Chances are that this dream will be a complete surprise and very different for anything YOU wanted. But you’ll know it’s God’s work because it’s consistent with Jesus’ teachings. It will require decisions and sacrifice. It won’t be easy and people will doubt you. It may take a long time and you’ll come to doubt yourself and be tempted to give up. The work and worry is always a part of serving God.

Faith is the catalyst that allows God to empower you, that allows you to begin making that connection.

Mark 9:23

Everything is possible for he who has faith.

Mathew 9:29

According to your faith it will be done unto you.

Hebrews 11:6

Without faith it is impossible to please God

For most of my life I’ve wanted to learn to paint in watercolor. It’s my favorite medium by far. I love the transparency, the degree to which paper texture controls the rendering of the image, the interaction of pigments, and the way the paint has a will of its own. Despite the totally unforgiving nature of watercolor, master artists reveal so much expression and presence in their brushstrokes, some making hyper-realistic street scenes, others compelling portraits, and a few sketch with their brushes instead of pencil or charcoal.

I’ll never create a masterpiece, or even a good piece, but I want to learn what I can. Thanks to my local college I am finally able to give watercolor my best shot. A wise man once told me that an artist only shows his best work. Sorry world, but I don’t have time or wisdom to follow that advice. Any piece I finish could be my last. But that doesn’t mean I’m not ambitious: if I can produce two or three things that my grandkids don’t eventually throw away then I’ll consider myself a success.

Rembrandt’s “The Woman at the Well”

Tribalism means being organized by or advocating for tribes or tribal lifestyles. The word tribal can be used to describe a kinship group or clan with a common ancestor. In Oklahoma, when we hear “tribe” our first thought is likely to be our many Native American tribes. My teaching career was divided into three locales: the Choctaw Nation, the Creek Nation, and the Seminole Nation. Most of my friends, my students, my colleagues, and neighbors have belonged to a tribe. Every culture, every continent, has such tribes, usually located in geographically proximate areas like villages or bands. They often have their own language, traditions, dress, customs, and code of law.

Tribalism can, in times of stress, solidify a group in common defense to help preserve the integrity of tradition and the likelihood of survival. Tribal behavior rose and persists as a result of its benefits to group survival. The tribe is a source of pride and identity to its members. There is strength in numbers.

But, of course, there are other tribes besides the kinships of indigenous peoples. Technology enables groups of people to form digital tribes using tools like social media. This kind of tribe, a group with shared interests, lifestyles, and habits, has been around throughout history as well.

Tribalism is human nature, instinctive: an inherited behavior. We say “Birds of a feather flock together.” Humans are social animals, not well prepared to survive alone. We are conditioned by natural selection to exhibit tribal behavior — the impulse to protect clan, or turf, or a way of life.

But tribalism has its dark side as well. Tribalism is rooted in scarcity — the assumption that there isn’t enough to go around. So we assume that we have to fight for and hoard all that we can for the tribe and deny it to those who don’t qualify. Our tribes divide us into we and the others. “We”, in almost every case, are the humans, the right, the good, God’s chosen, the righteous, the wise, the deserving. And the “others” have to be the lesser beings, the wrong, the evil ones, the godless or spawn of the devil, the foolish, ignorant, or stupid, the enemy who wants what is ours. I’ve seen this in my own words and deeds.

Even within the tribe, there are always sub tribes, divisions, dissenters. The tribe, or human nature, insist upon loyalty, conformity, adherence to dogma. So the tribal member who doesn’t conform, the dissenter who questions or behaves “abnormally”, is subject to ridicule, castigation, bullying, or expulsion.

In the news today, we can see that tribalism is thriving. The tribes of economy, politics, religion, nationality, social philosophy, are dividing us into ever smaller, more polarized groups — each increasingly insistence that no compromise can be tolerated. We see how easily groups vilify their adversaries, how infrequently we consider (or even listen to) any opposing view, calling publications that question our positions as “fake news”, how little evidence is considered or reason applied, and how quickly a confrontation turns violent.

Jesus lived in a culture that was quintessentially tribal. His world consisted of Jews (descendants of Abraham) and Gentiles (everyone else.) Within his Jewish culture there were distinct tribes. The Jews, of course, considered themselves God’s chosen people, and it was perfectly acceptable for the Jews to consider everyone else to be no better than swine. Within the tribe, men were vastly more important than women or children. The first born son was better than any of his siblings. The priests were more worthy than any others. The rich were more blessed and deserving than the poor. The sick were considered unclean sinners. Jesus’s society was very structured and rigid.

Jesus taught us about bread. In John 6, shortly after miraculously feeding a multitude with a few loaves and fishes, he was describing the bread of life that comes down from heaven. The people ask Jesus what they should do in order have this bread – to do God’s work. He answered that they should believe in him. But they wanted a sign, another miracle, to convince them, something like the mana in Moses’ day.

Jesus said, “I tell you the truth, Moses didn’t give you bread from heaven. My Father did. And now he offers you the true bread from heaven. The true bread of God is the one who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”

“Sir,” they said, “give us that bread every day.”

Jesus replied, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry again. Whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.

He was given to the world — not just to Israel, to the tribes of the Jews, but — to whoever believes in Him.

In his parable, the Good Samaritan, Jesus purposely chose a Samaritan, a separate branch of Israelites, despised by Jesus’ tribe, to illustrate a good neighbor, an example of love.

Jesus was asked by a lawyer, testing him, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus, in turn, asked, “What is written in the law? How do you interpret it?” And the lawyer answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength; and love your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus replied, “You have answered correctly. Do this and you shall live.” Being a lawyer, in order to justify himself, he further asked, “Who is my neighbor?” So Jesus tells the story:

Jesus answered, “A certain man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho and he fell among robbers, who both stripped him and beat him, and departed, leaving him half dead. By chance a certain priest going down that way. When he saw him, he passed by on the other side. In the same way a Levite also, when he came to the place, and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a certain Samaritan as he travelled, came where he was. When he saw him, he was moved with compassion, came to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. He set him on his own animal and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. On the next day, when he departed, he took out two denarii, gave them to the host, and said to him, ‘Take care of him. Whatever you spend beyond that, I will repay you when I return.’ Now which of these three do you think seemed to be a neighbor to him who fell among the robbers?”

He said, “He who showed mercy on him.”

Then Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

-Luke 10:30-37

I’ve heard someone say, “I’ll start being concerned about refugees whenever the last homeless veteran has a job and a place to live.” You can replace the words “refugees” and “veterans” with any other groups you wish – this statement typifies tribalism. It would be more honest to say, “I’ll never be concerned about refugees.” The sentiment expressed is one of justification for disregard, for apathy, for diminishing others as unworthy and unwelcome.

Tribal attitudes are often thought of as pride, but conceal an underlying insecurity and lack of confidence. You don’t often find genuinely confident, secure, healthy people displaying tribal behavior. More typically, even when they claim to be enlightened, guided by self interests, they tend to act out their fear of others. As do I. The “otherness” we see in a group is usually the thing we fear the most.

There are many Christian tenets that we accept and understand that we just don’t put into practice. Let’s take a look. We have theological virtues: Faith, hope, charity. We have cardinal virtues: prudence, justice, temperance, and courage. Other virtues include: patience, humility, kindness, wisdom, and diligence. There’s nothing there about exclusion, arrogance, or demeaning others.

On the other hand, consider the cardinal sins: Pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, and sloth. How many of those come into play when we set up attitudes of “us” versus “them”?

Jesus’ teachings are rooted in abundance, not scarcity. God’s love is infinite, His capacity unlimited. When asked, “Then how can anyone be saved?” He explains, “For man, it is impossible, but with God all things are possible.

A couple of years ago, as Britain was struggling with the issue of whether or not to remain in the European Union, Jo Cox, a Labour Party Member of Parliament, was brutally murdered on the streets of Birstall, West Yorkshire. As her assailant murdered her, he shouted, “Put Britain first.” Again, this typified tribalism. Us first. If there’s anything left, then maybe we will consider them.

Jesus teaches us about putting ourselves first. In Matthew 20:16 he said “The first shall be last and the last shall be first.”

To quote Michael Jinkins, a contributor to Huffington Post:

The story of Christianity is the story of good news that will not respect the walls erected by human hands, but opens the eyes of people to the fact that every partition we erect is called into question by the neighborhood of Jesus Christ (Galatians 3:28; Ephesians 2:14). The Spirit of Christ runs counter to the spirit of the tribe, calling us to let go of the fears and self-hatred that separate us and to find in Christ the humanity that revels in God’s love for everyone God created.

God, grant us the guidance, the strength, the knowledge, and the courage to overcome our human nature, our baser tendencies and to embrace and put into practice what you have taught us.


The First Shall Be Last: Tribalism And Christian Faith, Michael Jinkins, HuffPost, 9/27/16

Jesus, a Challenge to Ancient and Modern Tribalism, Mark Beckwith, Dioceses of Newark, 8/15/18

Jesus trumps Tribalism, Christian Century, 3/14/16

Pretty sure this project is doomed from the start… but here goes.

Yeah. That’s my leg. I’m having to keep it elevated for weeks. Makes drawing even harder.