Category: Blog

Speaking of… Concrete

In this series, I’m exploring some of the techniques I’ve learned to make a speaking presentation more effective.

Looks like a delicious pudding... or a DEADLY one!

I am very much a ‘big picture’ type of person. I don’t like to focus on the nitty-gritty, the practical, the ‘application’ of a talk. Unfortunately for me, that’s where – in my experience – most of my listeners camp out. So over the past couple of years, I’ve been working on making my talks more tangible, more down-to-earth (and, for the record, I’m blessed with a wife who lives in that world, so she’s been a fantastic teacher). Here’s what I’ve learned:
Your audience isn’t going to be able to grasp a lot of the less tangible, big-picture ideas without some help. It’s not because they’re dumb. It’s because they are – more than likely – novices compared to you. If you’re speaking, it’s most likely because someone thought you had something new or fresh to bring to their worlds. You’re the expert. And you’re afflicted with what Chip and Dan Heath (in their incredible book Made to Stick) call the “Curse of Knowledge”.

You can’t remember what it’s like not to know.

I study New Testament. I’ve know what the Synoptic Problem is for so long, I can’t remember what it’s like not to know that Matthew, Mark and Luke all read like basically the same story, that they use a lot of the same phrasings, and that Matthew and Luke have all this extra material Mark doesn’t that we’ve labeled Q. But introduce a person who’s grown up in Church but never studied the Gospels scholastically to that concept and s/he’ll only see a big, scary mess (which, to be fair, is how most of us feel about the Jesus Seminar).

One key to overcoming the Curse of Knowledge is using concrete, tangible examples.

Is this too busy? I like numbers and shapes! Dr. Steve Friesen is a master at this when it comes to New Testament. I taught under him for two years, and the first year we taught Mark, then Matthew, then John then Luke-Acts, and introduced the Synoptic Problem during the Matthew section. Students struggled to understand how Mark and Matthew were so similar – all they could see were the differences (Mark has no birth or post-resurrection narratives, almost no parables, etc.).

The next year, he switched it up – we did Mark, John, Matthew, and still introduced the Synoptic Problem with Matthew’s material. But this time, the students themselves noticed the ‘problem’. After reading Mark and John, they immediately noticed how similar Matthew was, and began asking questions! It was really incredible. I’ve also noticed that graphics like the one over there <— help more visual students to understand the relationships among the Synoptics. In fact, the more methods of communicating you can use, the better. Repetition is the key to memory!

Beautiful, is it not? This is what your talk can look like. Well, you know what I mean. Another friend of mine who is especially good at making abstract concepts very understandable is Henry Imler. Henry teaches philosophy and religion in Columbia, MO. He constantly uses all sorts of images – especially comics – to illustrate complex philosophic ideas to his students. Check out his blog for some great examples!

So, here’s the bottom line: concrete, practical examples can draw your listeners into your core message.

Is this something you do regularly? What are some of the best strategies you’ve found for overcoming the Curse of Knowledge?

Book Review: The Jesus Manifesto

This book’s intention is to make you uncomfortable. In that sense, the authors – Leonard Sweet and Frank Viola – succeed admirably, but probably not in the way they’d hoped, at least not for me.

Of the two Leonard Sweet books I’ve read so far (this one and The Gospel According to Starbucks), Manifesto is much more in-your-face. Of the two Viola books I’ve read so far (this one and Pagan Christianity), Manifesto is probably equally cruel. This leads me to believe that Frank Viola is a very angry man who dragged Dr. Sweet along for the ride. I don’t know either of the authors though. so to the book!

What’s in the Book

Jesus Manifesto is a relatively quick (under 200 pages) attack on what – according to the authors – is the most serious problem in contemporary American Christianity: a lack of focus on Jesus. Viola and Sweet load both barrels and blast away at pretty much anyone that’s not them: Christianity has become about self-improvement. Or maybe it’s about social justice. No, it’s about doing the right things! Whatever the nature of the established institution, they will deconstruct it. And I don’t necessarily disagree with many of their critiques of the modern Church.

But.

Sweet and Viola never bother to construct anything. They don’t offer answers to the critiques they levy so handily. "The question is not ‘What would Jesus do?’ but ‘What does Jesus want to do now through us?’" Okay. so how do we teach people the difference? "The essence of Jesus’ being is not His; he is continually receiving it from the Father. Could it be that those who are remade in Christ’s image live in a similar fashion?"
What? So we just ask "WWGD" instead? How is that significantly different?

Elsewhere, the authors claim that Jesus is not a social agenda. Okay, so does the Kingdom of God have political implications? Yes, apparently. er. maybe not. um. Jesus! Look at what Jesus did, but don’t imitate it! Or maybe you do.

The book does make great points. Lots of them, in fact. But just when you’re about to underline something helpful, the authors backpedal. The only word you’re really safe underlining in the book, in fact, is "Jesus". And while this may have been Sweet & Viola’s point, it’s not done in a clever enough way to be helpful. It ends up being more maddening and confusing.

And in the end, while I have my issues with the contemporary Church, maybe I’m just not ready to throw the Baby out with the manger hay.

The verdict? The book stands on Jesus, but the explanation of that stand is too confusing to be very helpful.

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

Christology Frank Viola Jesus Manifesto Leonard Sweet

Book Review: The Given Day

If you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m quite the Dennis Lehane fan. The Given Day is his most recent book (2008), his longest book (just over 700 pages) and easily his most unique.

It’s a beautiful, tragic and quintessentially American novel.

Say goodbye to Lehane the noir crime novelist (or at least, see you later) and say hello to Lehane, the Chronicler of All Things American. The Given Day is a gritty, tough and uncompromising look at America in all her… well, not glory. And that’s precisely the charm. Day is honest about our shortcomings. Lehane clearly exposes our prejudice and ignorance for what they are while reminding us that those are hardly unique to America. This book is cruel, but not unnecessarily so. At the end of the Day, Lehane’s America is the cauldron of post-modernity.

Everyone’s worried about immigration and whether or not America the Great is becoming America the Red. Some are seeing socialists around every corner, and they all complain that the immigrants are coming here unable to speak the language and taking all our jobs. There are wars and rumors of wars. Families rise and fall, and all the great institutions (government, big business, the religious institutions) are seen for the corrupt, self-serving machines they are.

You’d think The Given Day is a story of our own times. But you’d be wrong.

The Given Day follows Aiden “Danny” Coughlin, a second-generation Irish cop in Boston at the close of the Great War, and Luther Lawrence, a black man from Columbus, OH who ends up in Boston by way of Tulsa (and yeah, that’s a good story in-and-of itself.). These two men become the lens through which we explore all the racism, suspicion, class warfare and violence the American Empire has to offer.

The immigrants are Italian, not Hispanic, and the socialists are union organizers, not health-care supporters, but the rhetoric and the fears behind the rhetoric are the same. Lehane refuses to take sides, and instead uses the humanity and complexity of his characters to raise the level of debate on these and other issues. In the end, he argues that to be America is to exist in the tension between progress and power. Between change and entrenchment. Between the big business and the worker, the government and the immigrant.

And for those of us in the midst of all of it, what really makes us American is our freedom, our ability to choose. To rail against the institutions in all their evil (be it the active evil of the big businesses or the passive evil of the Church’s irrelevance). Even with all the forces of our world aligned against us – the (corrupt) government, organized religion, the class (or is it caste?) systems and sometimes even our own families, we can still stand up and choose to fight for what we want. Life doesn’t always (or even usually) give us a happy ending. It’s better, then, to find happiness in the endings we have.

The Given Day pictures America as a perfect post-modern Empire.

Lehane effectively mythologizes an overlooked but important period of American history, demonstrating that the more things change here, the more they stay the same. If it’s not The Great American Novel, it’s at least a great picture of what it means to be American. And if you’re still not convinced, Babe Ruth frames and organizes the whole story. All that’s missing is the Apple Pie.

Bottom Line: This book is a wild adventure that probes the heart of what it means to be free.

I was only left wondering what a Christian reading of The Given Day might look like. We could rage with Danny against the injustice of the Empire or weep with Luther at the violence that consumes us, even pitting us against each other. But we can do more than settle into an existential despair that finds joy despite the evil of the systems that stand against us. We can work toward their redemption, get back up even after they crush us down. We can work toward an ending that’s not happy despite our circumstances, but hopefully even because of them.

Communism Dennis Lehane Immigration Post-modernism Racism Socialism The Given Day

Noteworthy Accomplishments (of Note)

Certainly if you only have one point, then keeping your talk organized is going to be a little bit easier. But I’ve found it’s still a great idea to use some sort of notes to keep your thoughts in order and moving forward.

One of the biggest challenges I face as a communicator is the desire I have to over-communicate, to chase tangents. It’s not a bad thing, necessarily. We want to provide a fuller picture of what we’re discussing, so we jump from topic to topic.

Notes keep you focused on the simple point you’re making.

How do you decide what kind of notes to use? I started out using an outline, but I’ve since moved to manuscript (where I type out my entire talk). I’m more comfortable with the manuscript because – after I’ve practiced several times – I can follow it easily. Even better, if I have a thought or point I want to express in a particular way, with a certain wording, I have it written (or sometimes bolded) in my manuscript. If you’re a visual person, try the strategy another friend of mine uses. He draws a series of pictures that illustrate the flow of his thoughts.

What matters is that you find an easy way to keep your thoughts focused.

Do you use notes? What are some tips you’ve found for keeping yourself on track and on task when you communicate?

Be Prepared Leadership Notes Public Speaking Sermon

Book Review: Eve’s Revenge

Lilian Calles Barger has written a profound, powerful meditation on what it means to be a woman in the (post) modern world. Eve’s Revenge argues that our culture teaches women to hate their bodies, to view them as enemies on the path to self-fulfillment. She explores the roots of this worldview, the disembodied reality it creates, and the insufficient response (thus far) of the various aspects of the Feminist movement. True to her thesis, Barger doesn’t settle for abstract, theoretical answers to the disintegrated and dissatisfied world we experience. Ultimately, Barger believes that the solution is an embodied faith in the crucified and resurrected Jesus of Nazareth, and she closes her meditation with practical, concrete advice for moving forward.

Barger writes as a women, to and for women, so as a male reader, I felt a bit as though I was listening in on someone else’s conversation, but never excluded. Rather, I was challenged to reflect on what part I played (as a male) in creating the world Barger illuminates. Even more, Barger’s passion drew me into her writing. I was shocked at the reality most women today live; I mourned when I asked my wife, Amanda, about Barger’s commentary and she confirmed its accuracy. As an academic, Barger demonstrates that she is as well-versed and clever as anyone, and the emotion of her rhetoric was a breath of fresh air. I didn’t feel as though I was just listening to Barger’s mind; I felt as though she was baring her soul.

Barger’s book is a welcome, refreshing voice in the ongoing conversation about sex and sexuality. With honesty, clarity and transparency, Barger invites us to find wholeness by resisting what our culture teaches us about ourselves – body and soul.

Bottom line: It’s a difficult book on a lot of levels, and if you read it, you won’t look at yourself or the world the same again. So what are you waiting for?

Embodied Faith Eve's Revenge Gender Roles Lilian Barger Sexuality

Speaking of… Conversations on the Road

How often do you speak or teach? Or how often do you communicate ideas to someone else in the hopes that they’ll change their thinking or behavior?

I’ve been writing and delivering talks for about 6 years now in a pretty full-time capacity (on at least a weekly basis). That means I’ve probably prepared over 600 little nuggets of wisdom that some poor souls were fortunate (?) enough to endure.

Because believe me, most of them have been pretty rough. And while I’ve wrestled with the content of my talks/lessons/studies/sermons/discussions/etc. as long as I’ve been speaking, it’s only been in the past couple of years that I’ve really put much effort into the style of my talks, the way I deliver them. And I have to say that as I’ve put more work into the style, the degree to which my audience absorbs and adopts my content has improved dramatically.

I’ve learned that just saying something true isn’t enough to change someone’s life. We have to learn how to say it well.

So over the next few weeks, I wanted to reflect on some of the lessons I’ve learned in the past few years about speaking. And whether you’re a speaker or not, I hope you find some stuff that will help you communicate better. And share your tips with me!

Today, just this:

Who you’re addressing should affect what you say.

When I prepare a talk, I look at it as a journey. I am usually trying to convince you (my audience) of the truthfulness of an idea, or the worthiness of a practice to be implemented in your life. So as I prepare, I think about what your thoughts and opinions are. In most of my speaking engagements so far, I have been able to assume (rightly, as it turns out) that most of my audience are on the same basic journey that I had to go on, so I have been able to craft my talks so that they follow my own journey of discovering this particular truth or practice.

But one time…

I was invited to speak at a pastors’ conference in Guatemala, and when they found out that I was a youth minster, they scheduled a youth rally. They asked me to speak three times on youth ministry – once to the Guatemalan youth workers, once at the youth rally and once to the senior pastors about Youth Ministry.

I was excited, but also at a loss. I had no idea what Guatemalan culture, Church culture or Youth culture were like. What struggles they faced or what questions they were asking.

We landed in Guatemala City and spent a day traveling to Quetzaltenango on the other side of the country. Our driver, Carlos, was the head of the Guatemalan Baptist Youth Conference, so I was able to question him a bit. But I really wasn’t able to write my talks until the following night, after I was able to share a room with the Guatemalan youth workers. We spent a couple of hours just talking about how they do ministry and what their challenges are. I learned that almost every ministry there faced two common problems:

The persons they invited to their church communities didn’t come back.
Their senior pastors would not let them implement creative, nontraditional strategies for sharing the Gospel.

I spent the first night, then, teaching on a model of community that encouraged return visits. And the next day, I spoke with the pastors about creative, nontraditional incarnations of the Gospel in Guatemala (and that talk was followed by 45 minutes of questions and answers).

Because I learned their journeys, I was able to communicate effectively a message they needed and wanted to hear.

As I consider who my audience is and where they are on the conceptual journey I want to travel with them, I am able to craft my talk in such a way as to invite them on that journey with me. My steps become their steps.

And because I invite them to engage my material this way, they are more likely to own my conclusions as their own. They don’t just take my word for it; they have walked this road themselves.

So when you speak, who is your audience? And what are you doing to lead them to your conclusions (as opposed to standing at the end of the road and yelling at them to catch up)?

Core Idea Preaching Public Speaking Sermon Simple

A Death in Reflection

The final installment of my reflections on the life and death of John Barnes, my grandfather.

I had driven down that road dozens of times. And I had parked in that driveway just as often. Every step I took towards the door was intimately familiar. As was the doorknob I gripped and the entry way. It wasn’t until I turned the corner into the living room that I noted the first difference.

A hospice bed. Where the couch had always been.

And on the bed a wizened, crumpled form, barely larger than a child, and wrapped in a white sheet. It took me several moments to realize that form was my grandfather John.

Amanda and I had flown into Kansas City to spend a few of John’s last days with him. His kidneys were shutting down as a result of his lung cancer, which in turn had resulted from smoking for three quarters of a century.

John’s long and full life was almost over.

And I couldn’t help but observe how undignified death is. I’d experienced death before, but this was the first time I’d ever watched someone in the process of dying.

For the next two days, we sat with John as he wasted away. We fed him bits of toast and pieces of peaches. He slept often and while he was awake he was barely coherent. He didn’t know where he was, occasionally didn’t recognize us. And he was scared and sick and all of this made him mean. Undignified. But as I sat with him, I saw two pictures of grace, beauty that even then grew out of the indignity of death.

These two moments will remain with me forever:

John had pulled himself up to sit on his bed and was complaining that he was tired and wanted to go home (he was home). And my grandmother, Helen, went to him.

She sat down beside him.

And she spoke softly to him. Whispered into his ear. And scratched his back.

She held him and sat with him and even as he lashed out at her she stayed beside him.

John and Helen would have been married 60 years this July. And in their interaction, in Helen’s loyalty and faithfulness to John, I bore witness to a picture of God’s loyalty and faithfulness to us in the midst of our pain and suffering.

God is faithful to us even when we lash out against him.

In another moment, Helen and Amanda had left, and I was alone with John. He woke up, and in one of his more lucid moments looked at me and scoffed, “You and your tattoos.” (John was never a big fan of my ink.)

I laughed and we had a brief conversation about God. My mom had told me that in the last year or so of his life, John had begun to doubt his picture of the afterlife. I and his pastor had both had conversations with him, and one of those conversations must have come back to his mind in that moment, because he looked at me and spat out, “You don’t have any more idea than I do what happens next.”

I have discussed in two of my previous posts John’s faith, which he expressed primarily through his embodied life as a part of the Mound City, KS community. John was an active part of his faith communities throughout his life, and his faith was lived out through his physical presence in the world – his generosity and service – much more so than through his thought and contemplation.

I sat by John as he lay dying and questioning and I wondered if a short season of doubt at the end of a long, full life can invalidate a lifetime of service and giving, of embodying the Gospel.

And I thought of the man who came to Jesus, asking for his daughter to be healed. Jesus told him that all things were possible to them who believed and the man cried out,

“I believe! Help my unbelief!”

Jesus told the man – doubts and all – that his daughter had been healed. And the guy had to leave, travel a day and a half back to his home, not knowing anything about his daughter’s health.

His actions proved his faith, even when his thoughts couldn’t.

I held John’s hand as he slid back into the stupor of the dying. And as he slept, I reflected on these things.

God is faithful to us. And I truly believe that our actions speak at least as loudly as our words. And hopefully, sometimes, even louder.

John was dead less than two weeks later, his body finally giving up in its long struggle against death. And I mourned then, and mourn still, but it is a sorrow laced with hope.

I believe that, because Jesus’ resurrection is an embodied reality, I haven’t seen the last of John.

“Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?”

— 1 Corinthians 15:55

Death Doubt Embodied Faith Faith John Barnes LOVE Marriage

25 Reasons I Love My Wife

So if you didn’t know, today is my wife, Amanda’s 25th birthday. It’s her ‘Golden Birthday’, which is when you turn the age that is the same number as the day of your birthday (so, 25 on the 25th). In honor of this special occasion, I present to you 25 reasons I love my wife (in no particular order).

1. She’s a reader. I love that both of us read a lot. She is always reading something – usually that I haven’t read. It makes for some great discussions, and we can kill hours in a bookstore together.

2. She has great style. One of our first conversations revolved around our mutual love for Chuck Taylors. She has a unique fashion sense that means she always looks great and probably different from anyone else in the room. In the best way.

3. She is a people person. We’re both super-extroverted, so she loves having a housefull of guests as much as I do. She’s wonderful with people and has never met a person she couldn’t make into a friend.

4. She’s smoking hot. But I don’t have to tell you that. Clearly she is the hottest woman on the planet. Sorry, fellas!

5. She listens to great music. We have the same taste in music, more or less, and she’s always up for heading to a show with me, or picking up a new CD from one of our favorite bands. She only sings along when I do too, because I sing way louder. But it’s still fun.

6. She loves coffee. This is good because we work at a coffee shop, but also because we can drink it together in the mornings.

7. People like her better than me. No exaggeration, and no lie. I have a tendency to be too blunt and not very compassionate. She balances me very well in that regard. And I think it’s pretty awesome how much everyone loves her.

8. She is a great leader. She quickly earns the right to speak truth into other people’s lives, and she does so with grace and gentleness. It’s quite a thing to watch, and she inspires fierce loyalty in those she calls friends.

9. She thinks about stuff from a theological perspective. Even though she’s not formally trained in theology like me and a lot of my friends are, she doesn’t hold back from jumping into a conversation and offering her thoughtful opinion. She does a great job of considering all aspects of an issue, and she offers really practical advice. Speaking of which…

10. She is always very practically minded. At the end of the day, I’ve typically been content to contemplate abstract and detached theological ideas. Amanda is always concerned with how this changes our lives in the here and now, how we can put something into practice. She has taught me a lot about how to make the Scriptures and my faith more real.

11. She listens to my sermons at least 4 times. By the time I preach a sermon, I’ve usually talked it through at least 4 times. And usually Amanda has heard most of those practices, offering me critiques and feedback to make my talk more focused and practical.

12. She gives great feedback. Yup… like I just said, her feedback is really good. It’s thoughtful and helpful. My talks are always better after I’ve given them for her, and she does a great job of helping me come up with solid, concrete content that relates better.

13. She’s fluent in Spanish. Like for real fluent. Remember how I said people love her? You should see her in a Spanish-speaking country. At least 3 different people told her her Spanish was better than theirs. She’s truly a marvel to watch in action.

14. She loves to travel. You know how she got fluent in Spanish? By living in Spain. Oh yeah, and Mexico. And El Salvador. And she’s going to Honduras twice this year. I love that she loves to travel so much.

15. She plays Guitar Hero. She doesn’t play a lot of video games, but she does play Guitar Hero like a fiend. And she’s just bumped up to Hard for a couple of songs, so watch out world. The only thing better than rocking out at a concert together is rocking out in our TV room together.

16. She enjoys Sci-Fi. She has a soft spot for Star Trek and we watched (and loved) Battlestar Galactica together, and discussed it much. That is way hot.

17. She’s adventurous. If you haven’t picked up on this by now, she’s the first one out the door when it’s time to explore Dayton or drive across the country to visit a friend. We’re rarely ever home.

18. She loves her family. She has a huge extended family, and most of them live in the immediate vicinity of St. Louis, so they’re all very close. It’s a lot of fun to hang out with all of them, and – no shocker here – they all love her quite a lot.

19. She has tattoos. Not just a couple, but lots. And she’s working on her 3/4 sleeve right now, which is blowing my mind.

20. She loves going to concerts. And she loves getting in the Pit. This is important.

21. She does hair for fun. If you’ve never had Manda work on your hair, you don’t know what you’re missing. For real. This is one of her many forms of artistic expression.

22. She disciples really well. If you haven’t figured it out by now, people are drawn to Manda, and she is always on the lookout for younger persons to mentor. She does a great job of helping them to discover how to live in the story of the Gospel.

23. She serves better than anyone I know. She is up and serving before most other people have even figured out there’s a need. I love doing things like Target: Dayton with her, but she has an eye for the little, everyday needs that escape me. She’s incredible!

24. She uses technology without being addicted to it (blogs, TomTom, etc.). While I have a gadget addiction, Amanda is a lot more balanced. She can use pieces of tech for what they do well without becoming obsessed with them (read: unlike me). She is a great check for me in my gadget obsessions.

25. She has the Sermon on the Mount memorized. Before she started on her 3/4 sleeve (which is Sermon on the Mount-themed), she decided to memorize the whole thing (Matthew 5-7) and spent a couple of months diligently doing so. I’m blown away. Impressed and in awe. She’s so awesome!

There you have it… 25 of the 100s of reasons I love my wife. And what about you? What do you love about Amanda?

Amanda Birthday Forasteros LOVE Wife

A Sabbath Still Remains…

Third in my reflections on the life of my Grandfather, John Barnes.

In my last post, I recounted John’s work ethic – that as a young husband and father he frequently worked up to 20 hours per day. Even as a young boy, I remember going with Grandpa to the rock quarry where he worked. My siblings, cousins and I would spend hours climbing the giant piles of lime and gravel while John filled trucks and ran the quarry. When we returned to the farmhouse (and, later, the house by the lake), John would spend hours outside, tending to his garden or fishing.

Even after he finally retired, he spent countless hours out in the Mound City community, And while John certainly played well – he was almost always up for a game of Rook or Old Maid – I remember most that he worked. And in the last few years, when he got more and more sick, and just couldn’t get out and work anymore, it stole away his soul. It wasn’t a dramatic sort of thing. He just gradually became more and more miserable.

John was a worker, and when he couldn’t work anymore, a real and important part of him died.

Such were my thoughts as I stood under a tent at the Wesley Chapel Cemetery, surrounded by my family, all of us facing the casket that held John’s body. I thought about John the farmer. I thought about Adam the farmer. And the words of Genesis 3 rang in my mind even as the minister declared, “Ashes to ashes; dust to dust”:

“Cursed is the ground because of you; in toil you shall eat of it all the days of your life; thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you; and you shall eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread until you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

John worked hard. And in this, he participated in the story of Adam, the story that is our story. By his own toil and sweat he brought forth life for his family and – through his generosity – to his community. And in this way, John also participated in the story of the second Adam. John’s love for those around him was evident despite his gruff exterior, and he worked hard, he sacrificed for his loved ones – his friends and his family.

So as I stood, watching his casket, tears flowing down my cheeks even as rain kissed the canvas over our heads, I recalled for myself what the writer of Hebrews said concerning that second Adam, whose own labors on behalf of us, his beloved, are finished:

“Under the old covenant, the priest stands and ministers before the altar day after day, offering the same sacrifices again and again, which can never take away sins. But our High Priest offered himself to God as a single sacrifice for sins, good for all time. Then he sat down in the place of honor at God’s right hand.”
— Hebrews 10:11-12

I wept for my loss, for my mother and grandmother and family. But I understood what it means to mourn as those have hope. John was adamant that his death be marked with celebration and I left the graveside overcome by joy rather than sorrow. Because after a long life full of work, John Barnes was finally at rest.

“So then, a sabbath rest still remains for the people of God; for those who enter God’s rest also cease from their labors as God did from his. Let us therefore make every effort to enter that rest.”
— Hebrews 4:9-11

Identity John Barnes Rest Sabbath

Generosity and Community, but Blunt.

This series of posts comprise my reflections on the life of my grandfather John Barnes. The first entry is here.

A few years after John and Helen married, Eastern Kansas was struck by a pretty severe drought that left their small family in dire straights (since John was a farmer). They were unable to pay their gas bill, but the owner of the station knew John and extended him credit for over a year until they could harvest a good crop and begin to recover from the drought.

When I first heard this story, I was overcome by the generosity of the store owner. Such an act of kindness is far from commonplace in my culture. Credit is offered by VISA and MasterCard, not by a local business owner, and we don’t do business with the same persons often enough that they know our names, much less vouch for our honesty and work ethic in so tangible a way.

That singular act of generosity is a window for me into John’s world; he and my grandmother were unfailingly generous as well. I remember snippets of conversations overheard by my young ears – discussions between my mother and her brothers about some loans Grandma and Grandpa had made. I never really knew the persons in question nor did I fully grasp what had actually transpired (I was far to busy exploring the barns or swimming in the lake to be troubled by such grownup concerns), but I do remember that they always seemed to give more than most everyone else thought they should.

I also remember when a good friend of theirs was finally dying. Her husband had long since died, and she had no children to care for her (whether she had never had children or they were not there for some other reason I never knew), so my grandparents cared for her for a long time, visiting her several times every week and helping her to put all her affairs in order. Small town gossip being what it is, several persons in town began to speculate that they were trying to weasel into her will. I’ll never forget that my Grandma looked at me and said, “I don’t know how anyone could think such a thing. She’s our friend.” John simply nodded his agreement.

That was John Barnes to me. He didn’t say much. And when he did speak, it was straight to the point (for instance, when I got my first tattoo – Hebrew on my left forearm – I knew instantly that he was not thrilled. He asked me what it said, and when I started to tell him, he cut me off by exclaiming, “It says bulls*** to me.” That was the first time I ever heard him cuss.) For most of my life, I’d always taken his gruffness to be a sort of sullen anger – as my mother pointed out in her funeral reflections, he always could throw a good fit. But in retrospect, I realize that John was just a simple man. Not intellectually; as my uncle Jim said, “He didn’t say much, but he didn’t miss much either.”

No, I wonder if John’s simplicity was a sort of embodied honesty. He worked hard. He loved well. He lived in a community that respected hard work but that caught you when you fell. And he didn’t see much point in trying to be anything other than what he knew.

There’s an authenticity there that many of us are missing. The communities in which we live have become so detached, so disembodied that we now have to seek out those experiences that were part-and-parcel of John’s every-day-life. And we’re having to learn to be real in a way that he never did.

John wasn’t perfect; far from it. And that’s the point. If you knew John, you knew him flaws and all. He never had a conversation about ‘taking off masks’ or ‘tearing down walls’ in his community. I’m not sure those conversations would have even made sense to him, so far are they removed from his lived experiences.

It makes me wonder what we have to learn from actual communities actually living in community. Where your loss is my loss and your win is my win. I wonder what we can do to begin to reclaim that level of honesty in our lives. I wonder how we can move back towards an embodied sense of community.

Any thoughts?

Authenticity Community Generosity Honesty John Barnes Truth