The Holston is by far my favorite river to fish in the SouthEast, and I was excited to be there. I knew that all around me, there were trout. Large Trout. Thousands of them. Long ago, the wildlife engineers in this part of the country really did us a favor and placed large concrete pillars upriver that aerated the water, and when they did, the trout explosion began. The Holston now boasts more trout per foot than any other river in the state.

I was being careful…watching the water. Listening. Every now and then, a hungry trout broke the surface, chasing a tiny fly.

Working up and down the bank, I was certainly having a good time. The only problem was that I wasn’t catching any fish. I knew the fish were there, but try as I might, they eluded me.

Every once in a while, my leg would be bumped by a branch floating by underwater.

Bump.

Bump.

Bump.

Then I realized that the bumps were becoming more and more frequent, and that the bumps were on the wrong side of my leg. It would have meant that branches would have to go against the current, and surely that wasn’t happening. So I looked down.

All around my feet, there were trout. 20 at the very least. They were surrounding my feet, darting back and forth in a gorgeous ballet. When my feet kicked up rocks and loosed the tiny bugs underneath, they were feasting on them. Their mouths flashed white in the current, and I couldn’t believe that they were so close. Mesmerized, I slowly reached my hand beneath the water and cautiously stroked the back of one that came too close. He darted angrily away for a moment, but then thought better of it and returned to my feet with his friends.

I stood transfixed for what seemed like hours, watching them play and follow me. They weren’t afraid of me, even though I stood above them, fly rod in hand, and had been trying to catch them all morning.

Finally, I gave in and quit fishing altogether, opting to instead enjoy their beauty. I walked back and forth, kicking up rocks so they could eat, and in return they gave me a display of their charm and grace. They are, on all accounts, the most beautiful creatures ever placed by the Creator into our rivers. That’s why we chase them.

As I decided to go walk to the bank to eat some lunch, I reached my hand into the water one last time. My trout friends wouldn’t have any of it this time though, and darted away before I could touch them, and that’s when it occurred to me…

We search and search and search for something beautiful, when all along, we should have been paying attention to the tiny bumps at our feet. More often than not, the gorgeous things are closer than we think.

I hope you find the beautiful things, dear ones. I truly do.

R

Exodus 20:7 reads: “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain.”

I’ve been thinking about this scripture recently because a friend asked some questions on her Facebook regarding God’s name and whether or not it was worse than using the F-word.

Now, I’m not here to discuss the F-word, though I’m sure that would be entertaining for some of us. I’m rather going to explain briefly (I hope) why this particular scripture is so misused and how if we understood it better, we would be WAY more interested in keeping that particular command.

You see, as so often happens, this scripture has been misread and abused in a way that belittles it’s main message. The scripture has nothing to do with saying things like, “God Damn” or “GODDDD!!!!” when you hit your thumb with a hammer, or “LORD HAVE MERCY!” when you see some hot chick walking down the street.

Sorry, race fans. It simply isn’t that easy.

To truly understand what is being said, we must put the scripture within it’s proper contextual paradigm and in this case it is similar to a marriage.

In most marriages, when a woman marries, she “takes” her husband’s name. Along with his name, she agrees that she is now a changed person, no longer alone, but one with him and subject to a new life under that reality. The things she was have changed and now she has placed herself under new leadership. (Sorry ladies, but we are looking at this historically, so please don’t get off on a “he’s not the boss of me” tangent. I promise you I already know he isn’t the boss of you.)

As always, the Church has been likened unto a bride. While we certainly see the language more prevalent in NT phraseology, it nonetheless applied even more so in the OT, where this scripture is used. At that time, the idea of “Taking an name” was VERY important. Wives took names. Slaves took names. Children born into a family were said to “Take the name of the father”.

This language used in Exodus would certainly not have been lost on a people group who were said to be “Taking the name of God.” They would have been quite aware of the language and it’s implications.

So, in light of this, when we look at a marriage, let’s say mine, and we say, “April, please don’t take the name of Alderman in vain.” What do we mean?

We certainly don’t mean that April shouldn’t yell “Alderman Damn!” or “ALDERMANNNNNNN!” or something like that, do we? Of course not. We are saying, “April, along with this name comes a certain set of expectations as to what an Alderman is and is not. To take this name and then spit on those expectations is to dirty the name of Alderman.”

Whoa.

Expectation?

God has….expectations?

EXPECTATIONS?!?!?!?!

Yes, my dear friends, he does. And when we take his name, he expects us to take the utmost care with the way we live our lives. It goes beyond saying something silly using the name “God” and into the way we live out our daily lives at all times.

I’m not saying it is good to say God’s name in a frivolous way. Like any word, it tends to loose it’s specialness when we cheapen it. But that doesn’t mean it is ok to devalue a scripture like this and think that if we just learn to use God’s name in prayerful ways that we are fine and dandy, because we aren’t. God has a clear expectation for those who take his name.

Let us not take it in vain.

I could tell you it was horrible and that I never liked it anyway. I could tell you it was a dungeon and that no one should ever have to be subjected to it. I could tell you it was a poor fit and that I never really felt like it was home. I could tell you that I was never really good at it.

I could tell you all of those things, but that would be a lie.

I loved every minute and wouldn’t trade the experience for the world. I was darn good at it and made better every day by the fantastic people around me who pushed me to better myself. It wasn’t a dungeon. It wasn’t unfair or ridiculous.

I could lie to you.

I could tell you I’m terrified. I could tell you I pace the floors wondering what to do. I could tell you that I’m not excited and that gloom hides around every corner, haunting each moment like a ghost on a mission. I could tell you we don’t know what to do and that I’ve lost faith.

I could tell you all of those things, but that would be a lie.

I am not afraid. I pace the floors, listening to great music and coming up with new creative things to do and say for people who want to pay me for it. It is not gloomy here, the music plays loudly, the laughs come easily and the future looks as bright as ever. My faith has not been shaken, but has rather been strengthened by the provision of hands and a plan much bigger than mine.

Yes, I could lie to you. But at this point, it is simply much easier to tell you the truth.

One of my best friends recently shared with me that during her prayer time, she felt like God told her, “Let simplicity feed you.”

She took the message to heart and stopped going out to eat. Instead, she would go home for lunch and eat a simple meal of lentils each day. I could see a difference almost immediately. She would return from lunch and there was a quiet calmness about her that had not been there before.

Seeing her this way made me a little jealous, so I began trying to simplify my own eating habits and have been surprised with the results. My first change was simply to begin eating by myself every once in a while. This alone was a huge challenge as I almost always have a lunch meeting of some sort. In general, I find great joy in sharing meals with friends, so being alone at lunch feels foreign for sure. Still, I’ve begun to enjoy my alone time and the peace that seems to dominate my thoughts when I eat quietly by myself.

Now, I’ve begun simplifying the food itself, and what a revelation it is to eat simply. This evening, instead of a big meal, I had peanut butter and blueberry preserves on stone ground wheat bread and a glass of water. The taste was amazing, and it made me wonder, “When did I allow myself to forget how great peanut butter was?”

I think we end up this way about a lot of things in life. There are so many wonderful, simple things and we often forget about them.

I’m planning to continue simplifying my food, but I’m also considering all of the ways I can simplify the other areas of my life too. There are many nooks and crannies that have become complex beyond measure, and it would be nice to calm them.

Are there areas of your life that you’d like to bring under control? Does your heart yearn for simplicity?

Start with a peanut butter sandwich.

I didn’t need The National Weather Service to tell me about the tornado though, because I was in a boat with two of my best friends, drifting down the South Holsten river, fly fishing in it.

There was golf ball sized hail, lightning, thunder, and wind strong enough to push us upriver despite our efforts to row downstream. At one point, things got so bad that we put ashore in a field somewhere and sprinted to a shanty where we took refuge with some strangers who had also been caught on the river. Mother nature showed us once again that she can, at any moment, do with us what she will.

Later, once we were dry and relaxing over a well-deserved hot meal, we laughed and joked and retold our favorite moments of the day. What got said the most? “I’m glad we fished anyway.”

Now you may think that’s crazy. After all, what intelligent group of humans would desire to fly fish in a tornado? It’s insanity!

Well, I can tell you who. People who have an unrelenting passion for stories, adventures, community and catching trout- that’s who.

As I get a bit older I’ve discovered that I am making a more concerted effort to spend time doing the things I love. Family, friends and fly fishing seem to dominate the landscape of my life now more than ever before.

The secret to enjoying life is living out what you enjoy. Allow yourself to do something with all your might and see what happens. You will surprise yourself and the people around you. Against passion, even a tornado pales.

So tell me. What are you passionate enough to do while dodging golf ball sized hail? What do you love enough to brave danger, fear and the elements? Think about that for a moment.

Got it in your head? Good. Now here’s the last thing…

Whatever you thought of? You aren’t doing it nearly enough.

I know a man who once came to the brink of losing everything he had. Money, home, marriage and faith on the teetering edge as a result of the stress of losing his job. Through it all, he continued to counsel others in the most compassionate of ways.

I know a woman who went through a brutal divorce that she tried to avoid. She is a single mother, raising her daughter, going to work, cleaning house and finding time to be kind to everyone she meets….everyone.

My own mother cares for my frail, elderly grandfather. Every day, she changes him, bathes him, feeds him and sees to his every need. Oh, I almost forgot to mention- She also cares for my children during the day and often my brothers kids too. If you were to bump into her at the store, you would never know it. All you would see is her smile, easy laugh and cleverness.

All around you are people who possess fortitude. Perhaps you are among them, entrenched in some situation that most people couldn’t begin to understand. They surround us. They are us. They are more than us.

So tomorrow, when you get cut off in traffic. When someone is a bit more curt with you than they ought to be. When someone doesn’t laugh easily. Pause for a moment and extend a little grace, because you never really know what is behind it all, do you?

Either you want to argue with him or you want to embrace him, but regardless, he is one of the most dynamic figures of the Christian community to have emerged in many, many years.

In seminary, I had a professor who was upset with Bell because they were supposed to debate one another twice and both times, Bell cancelled. I guess that’s the thing about Bell. He’s going to say and do whatever it is that he wants to, and if you are good with that, you like Bell. (NOTE: I’ve always felt that Asbury Professor and NT Theologian Extraordinaire, Ben Witherington, has been Bell’s best critic)

But why? Why is it that Bell has such an effect on people? I’ll tell you why.

It isn’t that Bell has a bad theology. It is simply that he isn’t afraid to express a theology at all. And THAT is precisely why Bell has so many followers. The world is starving for pastors who aren’t afraid to have a thought-through (if sometimes a little questionable) theology.  To have a pastor with strong theology is so rare that one can certainly point them out. Bell, Driscoll, Piper, Boyd…the list is a short one.

In a world filled with self-help, everyone can figure it out themselves, wishy washy pastors, Bell is a giant.

Long ago, a professor made a note on a paper I’d written. It said, “Rob, don’t be afraid to have an opinion. This is YOUR thesis. Make a decision on the material and stick to it. That will make people want to read your work, even if they disagree.”

I took the advice to heart and have tried my best to do just that ever since, and when people ask me how I can have so many readers, I point out that I never expect them to agree on what I’ve written. I simply try to have an opinion. I write from a place of authority. I am the supreme authority on the subject of Rob Alderman’s opinion.

In the case of Rob Bell, we have a pastor who clearly loves God and loves people. This alone sets him apart from the vast majority of theologians. Most theologians could care less about people, and this puts the common Christian in a quandary- Sit in a church with a pastor who loves me but doesn’t know the scripture from a Joel Olsteen self-help best seller, or spend time with cranky theologians who is just waiting to point out my mistakes.

With Bell, they don’t have to choose. They can have both. This is what makes Bell remarkable. This is why Bell is on Good Morning America.This is what makes Bell better than most pastors.

So perhaps we should spend less time critiquing Love Wins. (says the guy hosting a Love Wins discussion group) Perhaps we should instead begin the process of asking our pastors to care a bit less about 3 point anagram sermons and care a bit more about having a solid theology.

Perhaps the problem isn’t Bell at all.

The last time I saw her alive was at 5am, and she was laying down, her breathing labored, but tail wagging. Even at the end, she had a smile on her face as if to say, “Thanks for everything.”

She was never supposed to be my dog. I wanted her brother, Boromir. There he was, laying on the floor of Petco with the adoption crew, like a little bear skin rug. I saw him and decided immediately that the little grizzly bear had to be mine.

“Let’s get this one,” I said.

“I would,” replied my wife, “but this other one won’t seem to let me.”

There, attached firmly to April’s dress was Eowyn. She refused to let go, playing and rolling and waging her tail. Even then, her whole demeanor screamed, “HEY WORLD, LOOK AT ME!!!!” And so we took them both.

From the very beginning, it was apparent that she was smarter than the rest of us. She had a way of always getting what she wanted, and she knew it. As a puppy, whenever she and Boromir lived with Tyler for a while, it seemed that Boromir got in trouble while Eowyn got gently scolded and then loved on, even when we knew it was her fault.

Two nights ago, I noticed she wasn’t breathing well. She was moving slowly and suddenly wouldn’t eat. I sat on the floor of our kitchen and just held her and cried. I could tell that the end was near. It certainly was sudden. Just the day before she was fine. But that’s how these things go I suppose. My guess is that it was her heart.

She held on for two days, never complaining, though I’m sure she was in discomfort. I have thought much over these two days about how dogs aren’t people. I’m not the kind of guy to spend thousands on my dog to have a surgery, but I’d probably go to jail if someone kicked one of my beloved pets. I think we should celebrate their lives and the wonderful gift that they are to us. We should remember how they loved to serve, to sit with us, and to make us smile. They never said an ill word to us or expected more from us than we would be able to give. No, dogs aren’t people, but in many ways they are far superior, and Eowyn? Well, Eowyn was intellectually superior to any dog I’ve ever met.

She never coughed blood or whined or stumbled. She never went to the bathroom on herself or growled at one of us. No, she was smart to the end, and when the end came, she went peacefully, as if it was all part of her plan.

The Smithsonian Institute has at this very moment, the original “cut-and-paste” Bible that was created by this founding father.

You can order the book from Amazon, and I’d like you to see a bit of the description. “Working in the White House in 1804, Jefferson set out to edit the Gospels in order to uncover the essence of true religion in the simple story of the life of Jesus. Jefferson was convinced that the authentic message of Jesus could be found only by extracting from the Gospels Jesus’s message of absolute love and service, rather than the miracle of the Annunciation, Virgin Birth, or even the Resurrection. Completed in 1819, this little book is the remarkable result of Jefferson’s efforts.”

Jefferson took a lot of heat in his day by religious conservatives for what he did, but his argument was simple – Man messes things up. To be a true Christian, one must adhere to the words of Jesus and nothing else. Not only was Jefferson not trying to be anti-Christian, but he believed himself to be more pure in his Christianity than those who were attacking him.

First, we must applaud Jefferson’s zeal on the matter. I mean, we all know how people muck with the Gospel so often that they do more harm than good. It just makes sense to erase anything other than the words of Christ himself, right? Jefferson was after the truth.

Here is the problem with that approach. We are all so much more than the sum of our own words. When I die, I will have left behind many words. I have journaled as a young man and as I have grown into a writer, even more of my thoughts and philosophies have been captured and will be preserved.

I imagine that when and if people decide they want to know me, there will be plenty for them to read. Things I thought. Things I said. But if you REALLY want to know who I was, don’t go back and read the archives from this blog. Go to my wake. Sit around with Dusty Strickland, Josh Parchman, Chris Pustelnik or Ryan Faricelli. Knock back a pint with Chris Garmon, Tyler Orr, Dryan, Jerry Redman, Brian Hash, Kevin Kockx  or Davis Cutshaw and the countless other rogues and saintly scoundrels I spent time with while on this Earth. The stories they’ll tell you that night will do more to explain me than my own words ever will.

And so it is with Jesus Christ. His words are powerful. I personally believe they are the guide by which we should live and the way to truth. But as with all things, they are only a piece of the portrait of who Jesus really was. This is why we have been given the entirety of the Bible. (and I would argue other manuscripts that are not found in our current Bible, but that is a different conversation) It is within the whole of scripture that we find a much more complete picture of the savior of the World. Through his words, yes. But also through the words of countless others, and it is my sincere hope that one day we will kick back with Peter, Paul and the rest of the saintly scoundrels and learn much, much more…

Awfully powerful words, aren’t they? Over the past year I began hanging out with a group of guys from Lee University. Some are recent grads, some are seniors. Most all of them work/volunteer at Regenerate Music Co. All of them are much younger than me.

They have a habit, these friends of mine, that has been rubbing off on me. They say, “I love you” all the time, and they really mean it.

At first, this took a bit for me to deal with. I wasn’t used to being told by other men that they loved me so much. I mean sure, every once in a while at a church service or something it would happen, but in general, not very often. These guys? All the time. Seriously.

When you meet them. When you say goodbye to them. When you call them on the phone. These are some loving dudes.

It’s strange how hard it was to get used to. I think for many men my age, we were raised that words like, “I love you” were sacred things. Saying them too often would take away their power. I can remember specific conversations from my youth where those very thoughts were placed into my head.

(SIDE NOTE: I also once knew a family who didn’t let their children say the word “Awesome” because “Only God was awesome”. In retrospect, I’m not sure that there are any words out there to properly describe the awesomeness of God, and they might have been ok using the word to describe my awesome skateboard moves. Just sayin…)

The problem with that mentality is that it trains us to say it too little. We become unable to properly express something that is clearly true. We all agree that not all love is romantic love. The scriptures teach us as much. But we know what love is, and for some reason we hold it close and don’t ever share it. Saying I love you to someone when it’s true only strengthens the word and the relationship. It validates feelings and makes verbal what the heart knows to be the case.

Well, as time went on, I found myself saying those words back to the label guys, but it didn’t stop there. I found myself saying them to other friends who I love dearly. I can tell that for many of them this is a new feeling, (I certainly try not to make it creepy sounding) but some of them have begun saying it back to me as well and this is a good thing. No, it is a GREAT thing.

I love not being afraid to love. After all, it was by love that I was set free in the first place.