What it's Like to Hold a Microphone as a Woman is Caught in Adultery

"A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho as he was attacked by robbers..." I began to explain the familiar parable of the Good Samaritan.  

"Nathan Britt!  What has happened to you?!  You should be ashamed of yourself!"

As I heard this question reverberate from behind me, it shot through my ear canal like a smack across the cheek, exposing the thin skin that I had developed from years of reading from the Bible and receiving praises via pats on the back and well-wishes from everyone around.  I had heard that ministry requires you to develop thick skin, but I assumed that meant to be prepared when people get mad because you forgot to visit them while they were having a toenail removed or something.  Maybe I was not ready for this.  I was tempted to turn around and see who it was.  They obviously knew me, by name, at least.  And not to brag, but I'm pretty great with names and faces.  But maybe this was not the ideal time to check my 6 o'clock and see an old acquaintance.  

The sun was beating down on my face.  I could almost feel the blisters forming on my bald head in synchronization with the salty sweat stinging my eyes.  Probably should've worn a hat, but hindsight is 20/20, I guess.  

Regardless, I'm getting distracted.  I'm just here to tell people about God's love.  

"A priest happened to be down the same road when he saw the man..."

I was halfway through a sermon but I'm not accustomed to hearing my name shouted out while reading scripture.  There were actually many facets of this particular sermon that were new to me, though.  I had never preached a sermon while facing an armed militia across the street.  New territory.  My mind went back to a conversation with my wife.  She said that many churchgoers had threatened to bring weapons to this event.  I told her "If they want to point a gun at me while I read the story of the Good Samaritan, let them do it."  It seems they obliged.  I was not even about to turn around and attempt to count the number of semiautomatics that could be found behind me.  Let's chalk that one up to faith.  As in, I have faith that these people may very well shoot me.  

I had purposefully worn sunglasses, partially because this was an outdoor event in mid July so it seemed logical, but partially because I knew making eye contact with anyone would lead to trouble.  So as I raise my eyes and take in the scenery, the seemingly infinite number of firearms surrounding me begin to get a little overwhelming.  

Refocus.  Just talk about God's love.  Don't get distracted.  Not by people yelling your name.  Not by the DIY branch of the NRA that has showed up en masse to intimidate you.  Just focus on God's love.  

"So, too, a Levite, when he came to the place, saw him..." Back on track.  The Good Samaritan is on his way.  

I had also never preached a sermon while a man and woman, presumably a married couple, but this was no time to ask for a marriage license, screamed at me from a megaphone in an attempt to drown me out.  The feeling of being called a sinner, being commanded to repent, and being warned about the flames of hell, all while reading from scripture, is not a feeling I will soon forget.  I feel like the irony was lost on this crowd, but maybe I'm underestimating their capacity to understand concepts like irony.  

Who knew that the words of Jesus and the parable of the Good Samaritan could be so inflammatory?  

I came to preach the gospel.  The good news.  God created us in His image and He loves us so much that He came to die for us.  The rally was called "No Hate in Our Holler," and considering this is my hometown, and that I'm against hate, and that I preach from time to time, it felt logical to offer a sermon and preach the love of God from the courthouse square.  

Other people came to preach a gospel of their own creation.  It was the good news as well.  Good news for anyone from the Bible-belt south.  A little less inclusive, sure.  But to each their own.  

Just focus on God's love, I remind myself yet again as the comments are becoming more and more personal and directed toward 'this boy who thinks he knows the Bible."  

"But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came to where the man was..."  Let's do this.  

It's getting harder to focus, but just talk about Jesus and the Bible, right?  What can go wrong?  

Or at least that's what I tell myself.  From the looks of these guns, a lot could go wrong.  

The amount of thoughts passing through my mind would not fit into a blog post.  Or probably even a book, save some works of classic literature that I don't have the attention span to read.  Who will take care of my kids if I don’t make it out of this? What about life insurance? Do I have enough to cover my debts? Are you ready for my most random thought?  Brace yourself.  

What if these people are right?  What if Jesus did not come to meet us in our sin, forgive us, and give us new life?  What if he came to establish a culture; southern, white culture? 

The entire Bible.  All the stories.  All the poems.  All the letters.  Meant for no one but people living in the Bible Belt in the year 2020.  Everyone else?  To hell with them.  Literally.  God's love only applies to people that love Toby Keith, NASCAR, and Copenhagen long cut.  The entire Bible, from 'In the beginning,' to 'Lo, I am with you,' to 'the grace of the Lord Jesus be with all the saints.'  Every word.  Was meant to point us toward the salvation found in biscuits and gravy every morning and fishing every Saturday.  That's what Jesus really came to die for.  

The oppressive regimes of Nero?  Those didn't really matter.  The book of Revelation is actually about how the Confederate flag belongs on diesel trucks.  Wisdom on how to deal with issues in the church?  The letters addressing those were actually about how upstanding followers of Jesus would actually participate in at least one demo derby per year.  

Obviously there is no scripture to back that up.  I would never believe any of that.  But boy, oh boy.  These people sure seem to.  With all of their hearts.  And souls.  And minds.  And with all of their strength.  They have gathered to worship their culture, put on a thrown and exalted above all.  And from the size of the crowd, idolatry was the popular ticket of the day.  

For the record, this thought was ridiculous.  A fleeting thought that surprised me about as much as the word 'Samaritan' surprised the teacher of the law in this story.  

I know Jesus said to love God and love your neighbor.  That's the law in a nutshell.  Genesis tells us that we're all created in God's image.  Jesus even says that what we do to the 'least of these,' we have done unto Him.  So I'm having a real hard time balancing exactly what is going on with these people.  I truly think that they love the idea of God.  In their defense, the god they have been taught about may very well be pleased with them.   The god they were raised to worship may be taking delight in their actions and words.  I'm just not real sure it is the same God that I know.  Otherwise, I feel that this scene would look much different.  

I'm really trying to take the high road.  

"Repent," a lady yells at me.  Through a bullhorn.  Repeatedly.  During my prayer.  A solemn time with God.  I wish that I could reply with, "Can you say that in Hebrew?  Or Aramaic?  Or any language that the actual Jesus would have spoken?  Because I can.  Sorta.  I'll mispronounce it, sure.  But let's hear you give it a whirl."

I bit my tongue.  I'm just here to talk about God's love.  Not ignite a riot.  

"He went to him and bandaged his wounds..."

"You think you know your Bible, boy?  Well where is your Bible?"  Well.  Where's yours?  I have written it's words upon my heart.  Like it tells me to.  

But I don't say it.  Stay focused on God's love.  That's why I'm here.  

"Then he put the man on his own donkey..."  We're getting close to the end.  Hopefully the end of the parable.  Not the end of my life.  

"You're headed straight for hell, boy!"  Well.  Do you mean Sheol?  The Old Testament place of the dead?  Or Hades, the Greek equivalent?  Or did you mean Gehenna, the valley that Jesus was standing in where he proclaimed it's gates would not prevail against His church?  Could you be more specific?  Or did you simply mean some word that your dementia ridden grandpa told you about on his back porch as he explained the dangers that other races posed to your way of life?  I'm confused.  Could you clarify?  Or are we just shouting?  

Ok.  Now my thought train is derailing.  This isn't Christlike.  I'm here to show love.  

"Which of these three do you think was a neighbor..."

Maybe if I spent every day like I was preaching to a hostile crowd demanding I shut up before they end me, focusing on God's love would come a little easier.  Why did it take this moment to make me remind me that I should always be focused on this love?  And when things begin to distract me, I should always make an attempt to refocus?  

I've nearly made it to the end, but I'm not even sure if I can make it to my vehicle.  It has been encompassed by an army large enough to invade a small country.  This scene sounds familiar.  I've heard about a guy that was caught in a mob of religious people.  He had been preaching about love while the religious chanted for his execution.  He, too, was surrounded by a mix of law enforcement and religious scholars (and man, oh, man I am using that term loosely here) of his day.  And I remember how his story went.  Safe to say, it worked out well for the rest of us, but for him, on that particular day?  I have to say that I am now officially fearing for my life.  

This scene looks familiar for other reasons as well.  I remember distinctly in John 8, a woman was caught in adultery.  The religious pulled her away from the act, brought her to Jesus, and suggested that she be stoned, in order to fulfill the law.  I look at the crowd that's actually listening to my story.  They are holding up rainbow flags and smoking cigarettes.  I'm looking at the crowd chanting through the megaphones for my demise.  They are holding signs with scripture.  It sure doesn't feel like I'm on the right side of this.  But if it was the side Jesus was on, maybe I'm in pretty good company.  The rich in spirit had shown up with their megaphones.  They have their good deeds, sure to punch their ticket to eternity.  But I am surrounded by the poor in spirit, acknowledging their sin and their need for grace.  I heard somewhere before that theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  So regardless of the fact that every righteous, upstanding citizen in town is on the opposite side, holding a stone in their hand, albeit in the form of a sign or a megaphone, I'll stick with the side that I'm on.  

"...go and do likewise."

Changing the World Requires More Paperwork Than I Thought

Changing the world at the click of a button sounds like a pretty sweet deal. In fact, doing anything ‘at the click of a button’ has become a proverbial way of saying that you’re making something easier. Minimal effort is required to do something big, possibly even life-changing.

But here I sit, clicking buttons. And it sure doesn’t feel like the world is changing. 

In reality, the proverb should probably be changed to say something like ‘change the world, then click a bunch of buttons to document how you made the changes, when you made the changes, the people involved in making the changes, and how you will do it differently in the future, based off of what you learned about changing the world THIS time.’

The button clicking is endless. Like, I think my right index finger may get carpal tunnel soon, if that is even anatomically possible. I feel like an explorer from The Age of Exploration, but rather than seeing a vast sea before my eyes as I set sail, I see buttons on a keyboard. The white crest of a massive wave in front of me looks an awful lot like a data report. Spreadsheets as far as the eye can see. I’ve got three screens pulled up and I’m logged into a different program on each screen to ensure efficiency. I won’t bother to mention the names of the programs or what they do, because it is such inside jargon to my particular career that it would be nonsense to anyone outside of it.

I am a school counselor by day. We used to be called guidance counselors before our state professional union changed our name. They felt as if the term ‘guidance counselor’ did not convey what we actually spent time doing and that it sent a message that we were only available for academic counseling. I appreciate their thoughts, but the name change has had little impact on my day to day life. I’m not sure that even the term ‘school counselor’ conveys that on any given day, I could be a teacher, a principal, a social worker, a case manager, a mental health therapist, a parent to a child that isn’t mine, a bookkeeper, and a college/career guide. 

I chose this career because I wanted to change lives; to have an impact on someone’s present and future. I wanted to be able to help students overcome obstacles when there was no one left to turn to. And yet here I sit, clicking buttons.

There are plenty of moments that have felt heroic; romantic in the way that you think life-changing will be. I remember the time a student that had grown up in poverty was offered a great financial aid package from a nearby college. When they found out, they ran to me and embraced me with a hug and said “I get to go to college. Can you believe it?” I fully realize that you had to be there for that statement to give you cold chills. But I WAS there. And trust me. It does give you chills. If you were there. And it’s always great to tell kids that they’ve won the status of valedictorian or that they’ve been awarded a scholarship. But you know what makes all of that possible? Button clicking and paperwork. It’s the backbone. And most days, those idealized moments seem pretty distant as I wear out the mouse on my computer. 

And of course I always love helping kids through their moments of crisis. Both the developmentally appropriate ones (I don’t know what I want to do with my future, this boy doesn’t like me, etc...) as well as the ones that you feel completely unprepared for (don’t eat gum you found under the table, don’t take your shirt off in the middle of class, etc...). But again. Each of those meetings is followed by, you guessed it, button clicking. 

Daily, routine moments can seem mundane. We look for God in the big moments. Graduations. Weddings. Funerals. His presence is rarely felt while we’re doing laundry. Or paperwork. Or anything that has become a daily habit. Such as clicking buttons. 

But that’s not really the story that we see painted in scripture. Sure, God spoke before battles. And met people on mountaintops. And spoke through burning bushes. There were plenty of big moments when God showed up that can’t be forgotten. But His presence is also found in the everyday. The mundane. The routine.

In John 4, we have a lady who has gone to fetch water from a well. Pretty routine task. It would be my equivalent of going to the grocery store, doing dishes, or folding laundry. And Jesus shows up. During her routine task. No mountaintop needed. And her life was changed in a seemingly mundane moment.

And we can all probably quote the verse from Luke, where we hear that there were shepherds ‘keeping watch over their flock’ when an angel of the Lord appears to them. The Bible doesn’t tell us how often they kept watch over their flock. But considering they were shepherds, I’m guessing it was often. It was routine. It was ordinary. And in that moment, Gods messenger shows up and alters the course of their lives and, quite literally, changes the world.

So I’ll just keep clicking my buttons. And who knows? Maybe an angel will appear and give me a life changing message. Or maybe Jesus Himself will show up and alter the course of my life. Maybe I don’t need a mountaintop or a burning bush or a battle to fight. Maybe I can simply go about my routine day and still find the presence of God around me. Maybe I can even hear His voice over the button clicking.

Because sometimes God shows up in majesty, but sometimes He shows up in the mundane.