For all those that are angered, sickened, saddened, devastated, or outraged by Freeh Report, I want to say this: Good. Feel that. Feel anger. Feel sick. Feel sad, and outraged. Feel it all. Shed a tear. Punch your desk. Do whatever you need to do to feel what you need to feel. Then, once the emotion can settle, do something. Do something for children. Do something for victims. Speak about abuse. Talk to your children about their self-worth, and teach them to not allow anyone to violate them. Write letters to lawmakers. Donate to local shelters. Take all that energy that you are feeling right now and use it.
Jerry Sandusky is in jail, but there are thousands of others like him in the world. Don’t believe the lies that predators want you to believe. Don’t believe that it can’t happen to you. Don’t believe that it can’t happen to your kid. Don’t believe that no one would cover up something like that. The Freeh Report needs to shock us into reality. It needs to shock us out of hiding and into the light. Sexual abuse and domestic violence cannot be a secret anymore. So go ahead and get mad. Call talk shows, talk to your friends, tweet, and update your status, but do not let it end there. Educate yourself and others. Advocate for those with no voice. Serve in places that need caring and loving people.
We need to learn some lessons from Penn State, Joe Paterno, Graham Spanier, Gary Schultz, and Tim Curley. The Penn State Four covered up for a grown man that was raping children. When those children needed someone to stand up and shout, “Stop!” silence was their answer.
If you are outraged, listen to that outrage. Do not let silence be your answer.
P.S. I wrote this blog, entitled Paterno’s Legacy (not his eternity) in January. At that time, a few people made comments saying that I wasn’t being fair. I wonder what they’re thinking now.
This sixth and final installment of Journey to Hope, is about a topic that usually doesn’t make us think about hope. It is suffering. Is there hope in suffering?
The video that I shared above is a very interesting conversation between the regular Journey to Hope hosts and a chaplain that works in hospice care. In the course of the conversation with Cathy Chalmers, I was reminded of the power of presence. While in the midst of suffering, many search for questions. There is a tendency to want to provide easy answers. It is much more difficult, and I believe much more faithful, to allow someone to remain in the questions. To walk with someone in their trial is something I wrote one of my first blogs about. You can read it here.
Another important thing I took from this conversation is the difference between healing and cure. It might not be a difference that many people acknowledge, but it is vitally important to know that there is a difference between being healed and being cured. I’d even argue that they are mutually exclusive.
For there to be true hope in the face of suffering, there must be a chance for healing. Cure can be temporary. Healing is eternal. Suffering can take many forms. Sickness, disease, poverty, hunger, despair, loneliness. It is all suffering. It is all pain. In the midst of suffering, hope can seem very far away. There are many times in life when cure and healing seem to overlap. If you are hungry, the cure is food. If you are sick, a cure is health. Yet seeking cure is sometimes treating a symptom.
Healing comes from the source of life. Bread may cure someone’s hunger, but they will inevitably be hungry again. Healing comes from the bread of life, which is eternal. Medicine may cure someone’s sickness, but all medicine – no matter how effective – is simply a stall tactic. Healing comes from embracing life eternal. Healing comes from the Holy Spirit that makes all things new.
I have seen people die of cancer that were never cured, but were truly healed. I have seen the spirit of someone facing death with courage, hope, and grace. That kind of strength doesn’t need a cure to live. That kind of strength comes from knowing the value of life.
It is possible to be healed without cure. It is possible to have peace in the face of death. That kind of peace comes from knowing that life was lived to its fullest. That life was spent in loving relationships. That life was spent in service to God and to humanity.
That kind of peace comes from knowing that this breath is the only one that matters. That right now life matters. Right now it is possible to love, laugh, embrace, teach, and inspire. Right now is all that any of us have.
That kind of peace comes from the assurance that right now isn’t all there is. It comes from knowing that the tomb was empty. It comes from knowing that death cannot hold the human soul. It comes from knowing that Christ died with us and will rise with us.
I have been a witness to that kind of peace. That gives me hope. I have seen the good news and I know that kind of peace is available to all. Suffering may not be cured, but healing is offered to all.
You probably don’t recognize the name Derek Redmond. You might recognize his story though. He was a sprinter in 1992 Barcolona Olympics. He was the British record holder and a contender to do well in the 400m. He had an injury-plagued career, but as he prepared for the most important 45 seconds of his life, the announcer claimed that he was in the “best form he’d shown.” About 15 seconds into the race, he tore his hamstring. He crumpled to the ground in pain. If that was the end of his race, no one would remember Derek Redmond, but as a trainer started to attend to him, Redmond got up and started limping around the track. He was determined to finish what he had begun. He was determined to finish the lap.
As he limped around the track, fans started to cheer. Several attendants approached him, but he waved them off. He was alone on the track. A wide shot of him in the video below reveals a strange scene – one man hobbling and barely able to stand, not the usual group of amazing athletes speeding along the curve. As he comes around the turn, the crowd is cheering him on. They understand what he is trying to do. They admire him for it. But then something else happens. Something extraordinary. Something that until recently, I don’ t think I really understood. Watch below.
A man comes out on the track. We don’t see what he had to do to get on the track. We do see him push past one person that tries to stop him. He puts his arm around the wounded athlete, and the recognition on Derek Redmond’s face helps us understand. This is his father.
This is his father who he drapes his arm around. Suddenly, the emotions of the moment catch up to the pain and Derek Redmond buries his face in his father’s chest. His father is now literally holding him up as another attendant comes. This time the guy is more adamant, but there is nothing that is going to take the boy from his father. You can almost read his lips, as he waves the man away, “Get the hell out of here!” is what I think he says.
The two finish the race together while the stadium rose to its feet in appreciation for what they had witnessed. Afterward, the father says, “Whatever happened, he had to finish. And I was there to help him finish. I intended to go over the line with him. We started his career together. I think we should finish it together.”
Derek Redmond is now a motivational speaker. On his website, he gives an interview where he describes his father as “My motivator, my hero, my pal, my bodyguard, my physio and my masseur some days.” I have seen this video of him and his Dad before, but the other day I watched again – perhaps for the first time as a father myself. I started thinking about Derek Redmond’s Dad.
My girls are too young to participate in competitive sports, but I’ve already began to dream about what their future holds. I think about their lives as dancers, athletes, students, friends. I think about the relationships they’ll make, the people they’ll know, the places they’ll go, and the accomplishments that await them. Is the Olympics in their future? Who knows?
As a father I can dream with them. I can dream for them. I can imagine myself watching my daughter in the biggest moment of her life. I can already be nervous, waiting for her chance to shine. I do not know what her dreams will be, but I can imagine being at the cusp of them, ready to emerge victorious.
What would it be like to be watching your son or your daughter run in the most important 45 seconds of their life, and then come up injured. How much would it hurt to see her body lying on the ground, broken; her race over; her career over; her dream over? How much would it hurt to think of the hours of practice, the trips to the gym, the diets, the training, the injuries, the coaching, the sacrifices that had all come to this point, and end with her crumpled on the ground waiting for the stretcher to carry her off the track so they could keep the schedule of the rest of the event?
Then, what would it feel like to see her get up? I remember the first time she fell off of her bike, and I remember with pride the moment she got back on her bike and kept going.
As I watch this video of Derek Redmond hobbling around the track I can see my daughters, struggling to finish something that they set out to achieve. When I dream their future, I don’t dream of them victorious. I dream of them courageous. I don’t dream of them with accolades and fame and money. I dream of them with conviction and perseverance and strength.
And when I see Derek Redmond collapse into the loving arms of his father, I dream that someday I will be able to be there for my daughters. I hope beyond hope that when they face a obstacle in their life that feels bigger than they can handle, that I will be able to be there for them. I hope this in part because I know what it feels like to collapse into the loving arms of my Dad.
The fact remains, I might not always be there for them. So I live every day teaching, praying, reading, dancing, laughing, and crying with them so that they know, and that they will always know that their Daddy loves them. More importantly, I do these things so that they know, and that they will ALWAYS know that our Father, Son, and Holy Spirit loves them. Amen.
Christians love the phrase, “Jesus died for me.” I can’t help but feel like the overuse of that phrase has led to a lot of problems. The idea that Jesus died for my sins is certainly Biblical, and it has been the cry of Christians, Protestants especially, for many generations. I don’t feel like I have to explain the idea of sacrificial theology too much because it is so prevelant, but here goes: We are sinful and a just God needs redemption. Instead of retribution, God sent Jesus, who was sinless, to be the sacrifice for the world. There is more to it than this, and most Christians have heard this story a thousand times. Jesus died for me because I am sinner and I need to be saved.
I have come to realize how problematic this type of thinking can be. For one, it is incredibly selfish. Yes, it is important to realize that God seeks out individuals. God loves every part of God’s creation and yearns for a relationship with all of us, even you and especially me. But if the language is all “my sins, my savior, my God,” you end up with a very small god, and a very limited idea of salvation. The “we” is sacrificed on the altar of “me.” As a result such important ideas like the communion of saints, systematic sin, and communal confession are lost. Sin is reduced individal moral failing, and Jesus is reduced to a self-help guru. (Many Christians charge other with making Jesus into a glorified teacher, but these people often make Jesus into a glorified Dr. Phil with magic tricks).
Secondly, the constant chorus that “Jesus died for me” is the first step toward a serious faith conflict. Let me explain: If I believe that Jesus died for me, then I expect Jesus to hang on the cross for all of my sins. Jesus is the one suffering, and I respond with tremendous gratitude because I know it could have been me on that cross. After all, I’m kind of a jerk. So I sing songs like “Take me to the Cross,” which thanks Jesus for stepping in and taking my punishment for me. I adore Jesus, but am not so sure about that Father, who felt an uncontrollable desire to punish someone. So I live my life, thankful that Jesus took away my suffering. But then something funny happens: I suffer.
I lose a loved one, or I am diagnosed with cancer, or my child is sent to war, or I take seriously the fact that the suffering of one is the suffering of all and I see that children in Africa are dying of AIDS and boys are being kidnapped, given cocaine and machine guns to kill their parents. So now I am faced with suffering, but all along I believed that Jesus died for me. Now what am I supposed to do? Jesus must not have suffered for me, because here I am doing plenty of it myself. Yeah, Jesus might have had it worse, but this is pretty bad. So I can either clench my jaw and think, “Well, Jesus died for me to save me from eternal punishment, but he doesn’t do much for me now;” or worse, I think, “Jesus abandoned me.” I am left with nothing but despair.
Does this seem over-simplified? Maybe, but I am convinced that only believing “Jesus died for me,” results in despair when faced with real-life suffering. So what do we have? There is another Biblical idea, one that Jesus himself believed when he told his disciples to “Take up your cross and follow me.” The idea is that Jesus died with me.
If Jesus died with me, then Jesus is there on the cross with me. I am still suffering. Jesus did not take that away, and God did not put me there to satisfy some divine blood-lust. I recognize that this world is broken. There are biological, political, economic, and environmental forces that are outside of God’s direct control and make us suffer. There are sins that are greater than individual moral failures. Because of these things, we will suffer. So when I am faced with tragedy, I know that Jesus is with me. Instead of despair I have hope.
What makes the Christian unique is not that Jesus suffers for us, but the comfort that comes with the knowledge that Jesus suffers with us. We know we are not alone. We know that Jesus is there for us through the darkest days, and that God the Father is not seeking ways to punish us, but sought, and found, the perfect way to comfort us.
If we hold only to the fact that “Jesus died for us,” then the story ends on the cross. If the story of Jesus is that he had to die for us to take our punishment away, then the resurrection is nothing more than an interesting postscript. If Jesus’ only mission was to die for us, then the mission was accomplished on the cross. But Paul tells us that we die Jesus’ death and share Jesus’ resurrection. When we suffer, we know that is not the end of the story. We know we have hope in the one that died, and was resurrected, and lives eternally with God.
So in this, my first post that is explicitly about God, I offer you this: Jesus did not simply die for you; Jesus died with you, and you will rise with Jesus. Suffering will surely come, but know that the suffering comes with the hope of the Resurrected One. May God’s peace and the hope of Jesus Christ be with you.
5K 36:00 (Race for the Cure, Jun. '12)
35:15 (Firecracker Run, Jul. '12)
33:47 (Crimestoppers, Aug. '12)
31:40 (Lagomarcino's, Oct. '12)
26:52 (CASI St. Patrick's Day, Mar. '13)
26:28 (Railroad Days, Jun. '13)* *2nd place in age division
26:40 (Casa Guanajuato, Nov. '13)
30:30 (Modern Woodmen Knockout Hunger, Sep '14)** **3rd place in age division
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