Washington is broken.

Wait….What?

When that phrase is uttered, what is meant is that the people elected to office have done a poor job leading. The people “elected to office,” have not performed their duties like most people expect. Gridlock. Negative rhetoric. The same men and women in office for years making little progress on issues or policies or problems. That’s what is meant when someone says Washington is broken. Personally, visiting the city is fun and always a bit energizing. Lots going on, good food, and enough to see to stimulate most imaginative people.

The power of Washington, though, at least from how our current government is framed, resides with people from all over the country.

I was born in a hospital with the word ‘mercy’ in the title. My wife and children were born in the same hospital, different than mine, but still it had the word ‘mercy’ in the title. This seems fitting on so many levels, but still early in a new year, let’s reflect a bit on where we all started.

We all started in need of help. Think of how many people surrounded your coming in to this world. There were doctors, nurses, hospital staff, friends, and family. And at no point, in the very beginning, did you and I do much on our own. Mercy.

Each and every time we are faced with a difficult time, perhaps one that puts in a hospital, we want things to get better. We want to feel well again. We want to make better diet and life decisions.

As long as I can remember, I have been interested in the world of Batman. Since I was pre-kindergarten, I used a towel  for a cape and donned a mask and tried to save the city against the likes of the Joker, the Penguin, or the Riddler. The truth remains: I still am a fan of the Dark Knight.

In fact, let me point out a few similarities.

We have the same initials: BW.

We both can point to emotional distress and loss as a catalyst for certain decisions and actions.

We both are more nocturnal than the average person and both have a rather tight inner circle. Oh, and there’s more, but you are already rolling your eyes a bit, so I’ll stop here for now.

Most people are busy. That's what we say to each other. 

"Hey, Fred, how are things? Are you keeping busy," asks Barney.

"Yep, looking forward to a break," says Fred.

And they pass each other thinking that that is good, normal, and productive. Keeping busy has become an expectation. We expect to be pulled in different directions and we expect others to also go from one activity to the next. And we hardly give such things a second thought.

But busyness is not a sign of good work or productivity. Busyness, in fact, may be a form of lazyness. It may be a way to avoid setting priorities and it may be a way to numb out and it may be something that is simply not good.

Traveling recently to upstate New York to get away, I found a sense of rhythm again. Unforced and unrehearsed. And guess what? I was still productive. I still managed to get some things done.

At some point, though, I will have THAT conversation. The one about how girls should be avoided and how boys do stupid things and at some point, the conversation will turn toward the physical. My son currently doesn't care much about certain singers or bands, he likes Arkham video games more. At some point, though, girls won't be yucky and not all will look like his sister. The first kiss for me happened in Whiteside County in Northern Illinois. Do I remember her? Yes. Does she remember me? I have no idea--not the point. Did I know what I was doing? Not at all. But, don't we all think we have something, even love, figured out until the idea of the thing crashes in to our daily life? 

This is an inevitable conversation, not because sex absolutely must be talked about in explicit terms, but because love is physical and to deny that is more than Victorian sensibility or aristocratic decorum.

(This post is the 5^th and final blog in a series about the nature of discipleship in our churches today.)

Making disciples is what the Church was made by God to do. In this series I explain why we aren’t doing it well (Read it here)  and two things that stand in our way (read about them here—Roadblock #1: the Christian message that is too easy to be good, and Roadblock #2: we have traded acts for facts).

(This post is the 4^rd blog in a series about the nature of discipleship in our churches today.)

In the first post of this series (Read it here) I argued that the American church’s misunderstanding of the phrase “grace is enough” causes us to miss out on what it truly means to be disciples of Jesus. 

To right the ship, we need to understand two roadblocks that prevent us, and others, from following Jesus into the life of discipleship we were created for.

(This post is the 3^rd blog in a series about the nature of discipleship in our churches today.)

In the first post of this series (Read it here) I argued that the American church’s misunderstanding of the phrase “grace is enough” causes us to misrepresent the Christian life and miss out on what it truly means to be disciples of Jesus. 

To right the ship, we need to understand two roadblocks that prevent us, and others, from following Jesus into the life of discipleship we were created for.

Grace is not enough.

That sentence alone will send the reformed crowd into orbit, and it just might make the rest of you scramble for Bible verses that refute works-based righteousness.

But when I was recently asked to comment on Christian discipleship today, I could not help but think that grace is not enough.

Obviously the truth of that statement relies on one’s definitions of “grace” and “enough.”

If grace is defined as God’s unbelievable act of reconciling humanity and all things to himself through the work of his Son, Jesus

Standing at the window, I watched a young person vomit on to the street. The drinking binge officially ended and while I never met the person nor did they look up to my 4^th floor room, I simply noted that vantage points matter.

A few days later, I sat at a table in a coffee shop and a plaque stated that this is where J.K. Rowling had written part of Harry Potter. She’d been a regular before Harry became huge. And I figured on that day, sometimes where you sit matters.

A friend gave us a tour that recounted the martyred covenanters and the day ended at Blackfriar’s cemetery. Once again, vantage points matter.

Yet, the waitress in a local pub is someone I remember as much as anyone else.