By Ronnie McBrayer

I recently had my annual physical; and I had been dreading it. But my dread was for reasons beyond the obvious. The backless gowns, vinyl examination tables, and being put into positions – literally – that rob you of all dignity: No, I hate going to the doctor because of a different kind of exposure not related to physical nakedness.

When put under the stethoscope-bearing, X-ray-shooting, blood-sucking, prescription-writing interrogation of a skilled physician, your life has a way of telling on you. You can no better hide your secrets than you can hide your rear end while wearing one of those tie-behind frocks. Having you been smoking? It will show up in the blood tests. Been boozing? Your liver will rat you out. Are you under too much stress or exercising too little? Your blood pressure reading will tell the tale. Have you been stretched out on the sofa eating cheesy puffs every day? Then your LDL cholesterol will backstab you quicker than you can scarf down a Ho-Ho cake.

I prefer to keep my secrets, secret; but this is what my doctor cannot abide. He wants everything bare and in the open. Honestly, I should appreciate my physician’s nosy persistence, because his goal is not to punish, embarrass, or shame me. His goal is that I be well, free from disease, and make any necessary changes to maintain a fitness for life. He is working to accomplish one of the most difficult things imaginable with human beings: forcing me to face the truth about myself and how I live my life.

That is the same point made by the writer of Hebrews when he speaks of the Scriptures as “Sharper than any double-edged sword, penetrating to divide soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it reveals the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” The Bible isn’t a giant stick used to bash in the brains of those who do not believe or behave as we wish they would. It’s not an instrument of shame whereby violators of our interpretations are exposed and left hanging in the breeze (though some practitioners use the Bible exactly that way).

No, it is a powerful tool of personal examination. It opens up our hearts, spirits, and minds revealing how we have lived our lives. And when necessary, the Scriptures give us the required intervention – the ability to change our lives– and improve our health and well-being.

Ronnie McBrayer is a syndicated columnist, speaker, and author of multiple books. You can read more and receive regular e-columns in your inbox at www.ronniemcbrayer.me.

By Ronnie McBrayer

When I was a college student I attended a “revival” in the town of Hollywood, Georgia. That’s right, Hollywood, Georgia. Hollywood is a county crossroads not a mecca for the rich and famous. It has a diner, a church, and not much else. This revival was a week-long gathering when people of the community crammed their families into the pews to sing rousing gospel songs, to hear the pleadings of the best visiting evangelist the church could afford.

As I made my way to the door I passed by a long line of Harley Davidson motorcycles. These were not the Baby Boomer playthings so many graying men and women ride today as a hobby or youthful escape. No, these were hardcore, gang-style cycles. And just inside the church, occupying the back pew, lo and behold, there sat the gang. Leather, studs, rippling arms, ponytails, tattoos: It was the complete Hell’s Angels package, sitting in a Baptist church in Hollywood, Georgia. Being a young, eager revivalist myself, I said to my friend, “Good. Maybe these heathen will get saved tonight.” And I meant it.

After the service got started, the pastor called on one of the deacons of the church to come forward and offer a prayer and word of introduction. One of those wicked bikers rose from his seat and started down the aisle. This chaps-wearing biker with a beard to his waist was the aforementioned deacon. I found out later that this biker-deacon was a self-financed missionary to the road houses, biker bars, strip clubs, and truck stops of America.

He entered places that good Christian people would never be caught, not even to share the gospel. He went to places where people drank too much, showed too much skin, engaged in too much sensuality, and waged too much violence. But there he led Bible studies, prayed for those who thought they didn’t have a prayer left, and even baptized a few souls in the truck stop showers when necessary.

I left that Hollywood church thinking that it would have been better to give the revival budget to this biker’s ministry rather than spending it on some flamboyant evangelist with a bouffant hair-do and expensive cuff links. And I left with a lesson scorched deep in my conscience: Never point a finger or a prayer at those you consider sinners. They may be more holy than you can imagine.

Ronnie McBrayer is a syndicated columnist, speaker, and author of multiple books. You can read more and receive regular e-columns in your inbox at www.ronniemcbrayer.me.

By Ronnie McBrayer

I took my sons to the park a few days ago to enjoy a new playground installed by the city fathers, apparently with the help of a team of safety experts and a host of litigation-preventing-attorneys. There was no dirt, mud, or gravel. Gone was the sharp-edged chain link fence, traded in for a short polymer-slotted wall. Even the equipment had changed. There were no monkey bars; no metal slides; no rocket-shaped-climby-thing, not even a seesaw.

There was one piece of missing playground equipment that, for all my nostalgia, I’m glad was removed: The merry-go-round, or as some call them, the round-a-bout. I haven’t been on one of these things since I was ten-years-old and with good reason. The game we played was simple. About a thousand pounds of elementary-aged children would climb aboard while someone’s older brother started spinning the thing with the G-force of a fighter jet. This resulted in half the kids immediately flying off or getting sucked beneath the thing, breaking arms and noses.

Those who remained stuck to the handlebars usually began to spew their lunches like shaken cola cans, and the one who didn’t get sick, suffer a compound fracture, or could walk the straightest line when the spinning stopped was naturally the winner.

The truth is no one ever wins on the round-a-bout. The round-a-bout I am speaking of is the always spinning cycle of human anger. The eye-for-an-eye, tit-for-tat rotation that leaves everyone flattened on the ground, barely holding on, or staggering about, dazed and broken. Is there a way to stay safe and “win” this dangerous game?

Jesus says there is: Don’t play the game at all. He said, “If you remember that someone has something against you, go settle your differences quickly.” The solution, according to Jesus, was not to assault your enemies with a preemptive strike or to dig in further by strengthening your grip on the rails. The solution is early intervention by defusing anger and retaliation before it even gets started.

You see, before the first blow is ever struck, before a trigger is ever pulled, or before the revenge scheme is ever hatched, emotions have already been weaponized and the round-a-bout is already on its not-so-merry-go-round way. Jesus understood that the only way to stop accelerating anger was to graciously neutralize it as soon as possible. That’s the only real way to stay in the game.

Ronnie McBrayer is a syndicated columnist, speaker, and author of multiple books. You can read more and receive regular e-columns in your inbox at www.ronniemcbrayer.me

By Ronnie McBrayer

Authors Ori Brafman and Rod Beckstrom take a detailed look at the native Apache tribe of what is now the Southwestern United States. The Spanish were unsuccessful in subduing this wild band. The Mexicans likewise failed. At first, the Americans fared no better. For hundreds of years the Apache maintained their independence against all would-be colonizers, threatening American power right up to the turn of the twentieth century.

Then, the American government gave the Apache tribal leaders cows. And everything changed. Once in possession of this rare resource, and with the buffalo population hunted to extinction, wealth in the form of walking, bawling bovines became the virus that ate away Apache society from the inside out. Now the Apache had wealth—ownership of things (cows)—and according to Brafman and Beckstrom, it broke their society.

Wealth is not inherently evil, but it is dangerous; especially for the tribe known as the church. Wealth blinds us to the distress of others as we work to amass our own possessions and protect our ecclesiastical fortunes, trading in a generous, service-directed way of life for bigger profits, softer lifestyles, sacred cows and strategies we proudly call “faithfulness.”

Americans give more to churches and religious organizations than any other charitable vehicle. Eighty-five cents out of every dollar given to churches is spent internally and only 2 percent—two cents out of every dollar put in the offering—ever makes it out of our country.

If American churches reallocated the dollars they spend on building construction and maintenance to food and education programs (about $19 billion a year), global starvation and malnutrition would be eliminated in less than a decade. American churches could provide clean drinking water and sanitation to every person on the planet with only 15% of their annual corporate income.

Our wealth must be pushed away from us and out into the world where it can serve God and not our profit-loss statements or our monthly financial reports read in the church business meeting. For neither the Christian nor the church are ends unto themselves – spiritually or materially – but we are called, as the people of God and imitators of Jesus Christ, to bless and serve the world.
It will be in serving others that the church will save itself from becoming nothing more than a spiritualized 501c3 not-for-profit, self-centered corporation, organized for the benefit of donor tax exemption and protecting sacred cows.

Ronnie McBrayer is a syndicated columnist, speaker, and author of multiple books. You can read more and receive regular e-columns in your inbox at www.ronniemcbrayer.me

Ronnie McBrayer

By Ronnie McBrayer

More than 120 years ago this week, Vincent Van Gogh died of an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound. In his short life, Van Gogh produced hundreds of watercolor paintings, sketches, and prints – some of which are the most valued in the world. Van Gogh’s posthumous success is a tremendous surprise, for his life was considered a disaster. He was an insufferable friend; his struggles with mental illness, depression, and alcoholism were well known; and he failed at a number of attempted careers.

One of those career choices was the Christian pastorate. “God has sent me to preach the Gospel to the poor,” Vincent wrote to his brother, so off he went to Amsterdam to enter the seminary, but Van Gogh failed the entrance exam. Undeterred, he entered a missionary school in Brussels. He flunked out.
Still resolute, he convinced the Dutch Reformed Church to appoint him as a missionary pastor to the coal miners in the village of Borinage. There he succeeded in his own way. Van Gogh gave away all his possessions to the miners. He lived like a beggar himself, barely surviving.

When the church authorities came to inspect his successful and growing ministry, they were appalled by him and his appearance. They removed him from his position because he “undermined the dignity of the priesthood.” Vincent never seemed to heal from this wound; a wound that played a role in him turning to the easel.

It was Van Gogh’s pictures—his interpretations of his surroundings—that he used to lead people to God. And he did so with all his rough edges and broken pieces; his fragmented mind and his constant illnesses; with his short, remarkable life; bringing the world priceless joy out of tremendous personal pain.

Bob Dylan sang, “Behind every beautiful thing there’s been some kind of pain.” Such is the case of tragic geniuses and such is life. Every journey is a mingled pathway of sorrow and rejoicing; of birth and death; of pain and joy; of difficulty and satisfaction. Some of it we understand and it makes sense; and a lot of it leaves us with the question marks of hopelessness.

But somehow there is joy behind the suffering, and resourcefulness behind the aching. There is purpose behind the rejection, and in one way or another, there is a future behind the knockbacks that life deals. Truly, the pain can lead to something extraordinarily beautiful.

Ronnie McBrayer is a syndicated columnist, speaker, and author of multiple books. You can read more and receive regular e-columns in your inbox at www.ronniemcbrayer.net.

By Ronnie McBrayer

Ronnie McBrayer

Daryl the Cable Guy showed up at my friend’s home to fix his malfunctioning modem. Daryl noticed the Christian books in my friend’s office and immediately began unloading his burdens. Daryl admitted that he too was a pastor; at least that was what he used to be. An extramarital affair had ended that career posthaste, and he had been recently expelled from the church and lost his marriage.

My friend shared that story with me a few days ago, and when our conversation ended I flipped on my own cable box. Greeting me on the screen was Senator John Edwards, explaining his most recent legalities and apologizing profusely for a laundry list of well-publicized immoralities.
Daryl the Cable Guy and John the Senator have a lot in common, and it was more than a bit ironic that I heard their stories within seconds of each other. Both fouled up in a very public way. Both violated the trust that good people had placed in them. Both weaved their webs of deceit, harming those closest to them. And both stand in need of redemption.

That’s a remarkable word, redemption. The Christian books on my own shelves tell me that redemption means “to buy.” The word carries the idea of freeing a person who has been enslaved; cutting the chains that bind; lifting away the weights that one carries. Thus, anything – anyone – worthy of redemption is exactly that: Worthy and worth the price.

The objections at this point are obvious. Philandering preachers? Vile and despicable acts by national politicians? Redemption? You can’t be serious! Well, people exactly like this seem to have been Jesus’ best pals. Let it never be forgotten that the accusation the religious community always hurled against Jesus was that he “was a friend to sinners.”

I concede that redemption doesn’t necessarily mean putting Daryl the Cable Guy back in a pulpit. The intoxicating authority found in such a position may be no good for him. John the Senator will likely never hold public office again and that’s probably a good thing for him; such offices are often more poisonous than profitable anyway.

But this does not change the fact that all of us sinners need safe, accessible communities of faith that will challenge our selfishness, point us to a hope-filled contrition, teach us what it means to love others and be loved by God and yes, redeem us.

Ronnie McBrayer is a syndicated columnist, speaker, and author of multiple books. You can read more and receive regular e-columns in your inbox at www.ronniemcbrayer.net.

By Ronnie McBrayer

Ronnie McBrayer

When that group of Separatists landed in the New World on the Mayflower, they landed at Plymouth Rock in a territory that would eventually become known as the Massachusetts Bay Colony. The Colony became, obviously, the seedbed for the nation whose birthday we celebrate this week.
The Pilgrims were not very successful and, under a new charter, were replaced by the Puritans. The Puritans were governed by a man who continues to have influence on the New World—John Winthrop. Winthrop claimed that God had given the Puritans this new land in order to purify Christianity, to save this continent from being wasted, and to serve as an example to the Old World for building a model society.

John Winthrop delivered his most famous sermon to this end, before he even set foot on North American soil. Just off of the beach on the boat that had brought the Puritans to their new home, he preached: “We shall be as a City upon a Hill, the eyes of all people are upon us. Keep his commandments and his laws that the Lord our God may bless us in the land we go to possess.”
This high idealism that a human nation, united with religious fervor, can serve the grand and glorious intentions of God has been written into this nation’s history and psyche; but these words have been terribly misappropriated. “City on a hill” language is verbiage that belongs in the realm of faith. No government or country can ever serve as the light of the world. Any earthly nation claiming otherwise has plagiarized the words of Jesus, attempting to use human power to birth what can only come into the world by the power of God.

Eugene Peterson makes this point eloquently clear. He says the North American church conspicuously embraces the way of the Empire while living “in Jesus’ name.” The church “replaces the Jesus way with the American way. Yes, the American way works, sometimes magnificently, in achieving grandly conceived ends. Wars are fought, wealth is accumulated, elections are won, and victories posted. But the means by which those ends are achieved leaves a lot to be desired.”

So with apologies to John Winthrop, do not expect government—any government—to be a City on a Hill. Expect great and noble things from governance; even demand it. But do not expect more than these can give.

Ronnie McBrayer is a syndicated columnist, speaker, and author of multiple books. You can read more and receive regular e-columns in your inbox at www.ronniemcbrayer.net.

By Ronnie McBrayer

Big, Fat, Expensive Weddings

Ronnie McBrayer

Last year when Kate Middleton walked down the aisle of Westminster Abbey to marry Prince William, it marked the apex of one of the most expensive weddings in history. The price tag on the royal nuptials was more than $30 million dollars. That was a deal compared to the ceremony of William’s parents. When adjusted for inflation, Charles and Lady Diana’s wedding reached the rarified air of nine figures, surpassing a hundred million dollars.

Though monarchs are rarely involved, every young couple seems willing to pay a royal ransom for their wedding these days. Flowers, dresses, tuxedoes, pictures, DJs, cakes, catering services, coordinators, and venue rentals: It all adds up to an average cost of more than $25,000. This escalating trend—for bigger, better, more elaborate weddings—troubles me. It’s not just the money (although the $25,000 might be better utilized by making the down payment on that first home or by investing it with compounding interest for the next 30 years). It’s more the cavalier attitude about getting married that makes me dread the gold-embossed invitations to June nuptials.
Countless couples will invest more money, energy, time, and planning into this single day of their lives than they will their lives together. They fail to see that an extravagant, black-tie ritual that impresses the neighbors does not a “happily-ever-after” make. And if the actual commitment of the bride and groom to each other is about as substantial as the icing on their wedding cake – sweet and buttery but hardly enduring – then it is no wonder that some ceremonies are still on the Visa card when the divorce attorneys are put on retainer.

Yet, there are still couples that speak their vows with holy commitment. These couples know that marriage vows will not insulate them from the trials of life, their in-laws, or job lay-offs. They know a fancy ceremony will not pay the mortgage, keep the electricity on, or ensure that the effects of economic recession will not invade their home. Their words will not mean the end of sickness, disagreements, poverty, or any variegated means of gut-wrenching suffering.

They enter their joined-together-life prepared, but not for every possible contingency; that’s impossible. They are prepared to stick together for much longer than the billing cycle on their wedding bills. These are couples that have a real chance to experience the best wedding possible—a wedding that becomes a marriage.
Ronnie McBrayer is a syndicated columnist, speaker, and author of multiple books. You can read more and receive regular e-columns in your inbox at www.ronniemcbrayer.net.

Ronnie McBrayer

By Ronnie McBrayer

“The kingdom of God is like kudzu planted in a field.” Would Jesus have ever said such a thing? Yes, I think so. You see, he once compared God’s work in this world to a growing “mustard seed” and like “yeast mixed in with the dough.” Making the jump from mustard and yeast to kudzu is not as far a leap as you might think.

The mustard of first century Palestine overgrew everything around it. Yeast worked the same way. Illustrated in the mustard seed and the yeast, Jesus shows that God can overwhelm and transform this world with a steady, unstoppable, persistent, invasive force. Honestly, I don’t know much about mustard or yeast; but as a Georgia native, I do know a little bit about kudzu.

Kudzu was introduced to North America from Asia, and the plant was quickly loved by gardeners, what with its large green leaves and purple blooms. The vine was touted as a “wonder plant,” and the USDA used the Civilian Conservation Corps of the 1930s to distribute and plant the seeds everywhere – especially in the South.

Little did anyone know that the Southeastern United States was the perfect environment for kudzu to grow, and grow and grow and grow. Kudzu has now climbed, coiled, and slithered its way all over the Southeast, changing the landscape while becoming a central characteristic of Southern culture.

Kudzu overtakes the environments into which it is introduced. It transforms the landscape in which it is planted. From just a few little seedlings, a few sprouting vines, it explodes and cannot be stopped. Such is the kingdom of God and the rule of Christ in today’s world. Let it have its start – in people’s hearts, in people’s lives, in the midst of this planet’s pain and suffering – and the world will in fact, change. It will be redeemed, as slowly and steadily the God Movement invades this world with the love of Christ.

Certainly we understand that people are still hungry. Wars are still fought. Injustice is still tolerated. There is suffering, anxiety, evil, and grief. But we believe that the kingdom is growing, inch by inch and foot by foot. This causes us to throw ourselves into a fractured world, not only because we care, but because we believe God isn’t finished with this world yet. In Jesus’ name, we are joining God’s divine plot to revolutionize a society.

Ronnie McBrayer is a syndicated columnist, speaker, and author of multiple books. You can read more and receive regular e-columns in your inbox at www.ronniemcbrayer.net.

Ronnie McBrayer

By Ronnie McBrayer

When the magnificent Pat Summitt announced last month that she was stepping down as coach of the University of Tennessee Lady Volunteers, it was the end of what Summitt called “a great ride.” For those of us who watched her coach these past four decades, pacing courtside and staring down players with that icy, piercing gaze, it was the final touch on a gold-gilded treasure.

Though Pat Summitt’s coaching career has ended due to what Dr. Alois Alzheimer called the “Disease of Forgetfulness,” certainly her life has not. She remains a hero and will go on with grace and strength, but she will have to do so with help from others. Many heroic people—not as well-known as Pat Summitt, but just as accomplished in their own way—are ambushed by this hellacious illness. In the fray that follows, those playing supportive roles emerge with equal heroics of their own.

For 50 years, my friend Betty has been a church pianist. As Alzheimer’s tightens its grip on her mind, she still dresses in her choir robe on Sundays, sits close to her grand piano, and when she gets her cue, she goes to the bench and plays Bach as surely and confidently as she did decades earlier. Her church could afford a new pianist, but they love Betty. They want her to play as long as she can, and at times they graciously order their entire worship service to accommodate her.

There is one of my personal heroes and mentors, Dr. Ron, who recently died from dementia. As his vigorous mind began to unravel, hundreds stepped forward to assist his wife and family—an entire community. And there is my own father-in-law, who now wrestles with this disease. The family will wrestle as well, at times smiling as he forgets a name; at other times weeping over stolen memories; and sometimes buckling beneath the near unbearable weight of caring for one who was once capable of carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

But what other choice is there? When one has given his or her life to us, how can we not give a little of our life in return? Yes, some of our heroes will forget almost everything: their accomplishments, the lives they once lived, and maybe our very names; but love will not let us forget them, especially when they need us most.

Ronnie McBrayer is a syndicated columnist, speaker, and author of multiple books. You can read more and receive regular e-columns in your inbox at www.ronniemcbrayer.net.