“If any wish to come after me, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life?” - Mark 8:34b-36

This verse is one that is baked into my spiritual journey. If we are to truly follow Jesus then we must take up our crosses. We must be willing to lose our lives. I cannot tell you how many Sunday morning and youth group sermons I have heard about that topic. It was a verse that we remembered and printed on t-shirts. It was our calling.

And I’m not sure if any of us did it.

I am not second guessing the sincerity behind any of the people who have quoted that verse in earnestness (including yours truly), but those stakes do not really present themselves to a white, middle-class American kids. As much as martyrdom was a hot topic for late 90s evangelicals—I owned and regularly perused a copy of Jesus Freaks: Stories of Those Who Stood for Jesus myself—it wasn’t really on the table in South Carolina.

God, as the Divine appears in this passage with Solomon, definitely has a genie/riddle-giving wizard vibe. Obviously whomever wrote Kings did not intend it that way, but that is how I read it. God appears to Solomon in a dream and asks what the king wants.

The TL;DR version (though you ought to read it) has Solomon asking for the wisdom to govern and the ability to discern between good and evil. God responds that since the king asked for this instead of long life, wealth, or the deaths of his enemies that Solomon would be granted wisdom plus the riches and glory. And if Solomon actually utilizes that wisdom then God will grant him long life.

So I have been mulling on wisdom today, which is a super pretentious thing to write. And I kind of hesitate even writing about wisdom because claiming to have wisdom is usually a surefire way to show how lacking one is in that department. So disclaimer: I am sometimes an idiot but these are my thoughts.

My mind works in strange ways sometimes. I have been to seminary, have an M. Div., am ordained, etc. There are times when I read scripture and I think about the layers of context behind the words. Of civilizations long past and centuries of theological wrestling with the text.

And there are times when I think about a cartoon character. We’ll get to that in a moment.

I have never really been comfortable with the emotion of anger. I don’t know if I internalized the teaching from the Sermon on the Mount that being angry with someone is akin to murder. Or maybe it’s because I am a fairly even-tempered person who was raised to treat others with kindness. All I know is that it has always felt wrong to be angry.

Yet anger is a natural emotion. You cannot avoid it. And honestly if you don’t get angry about certain injustices in the world, then you might come across as uncaring. For example, if a follower of Christ was not angry when a person was dehumanized or treated like crap then what are they even doing? Even Jesus, who preached that line about anger and murder got angry at times so there is obviously more nuance to this whole anger thing.

This is what happens virtually any time we are watching diving, gymnastics, or any Olympic sport scored by judges. The athlete will twist or flip or turn or do any combination of things that I could never have done at any time during my life.

Me: That was pretty impressive.
Commentator: Argh! Just a devastating mistake!

Usually the catastrophe is a toe not quite pointed the right way. A little bobble. A bit too big of a splash. It is often not anything blatantly obvious, but the judges’ scoring indicates that, yes, it was a devastating mistake. It is one of the reasons why the Olympics make for such riveting television (and why my heart goes out to almost every person competing): years of training come down to a moment when the difference between success and failure teeters on a razor’s edge.

What does that do to a person? Look, if you had one shot or one opportunity to seize everything you ever wanted in one moment, would you capture it or just let it slip? (I did that solely because I have made some of you reading this think “mom’s spaghetti”) Seriously though, I wonder what happens to the person who messes up and lets that moment slip away. I would hope that they have people who comfort them and let them know they are more than that one moment. I hope that they can forgive themselves.

I have heard the story of Jesus Feeding the 5,000 if not five thousand times, then maybe five hundred. What can I say? It is a Children’s Sunday School Greatest Hit; a straightforward story with a built-in snack object lesson (goldfish crackers). Yet it is kind of funny how we can hear the most familiar stories in different ways, which is exactly what happened this morning in church.

If you have been on the internet at all the last few days then you are probably have read something about a scene during the Olympic Opening Ceremonies in Paris. There was a scene on a bridge with a bunch of folks in drag in a pose that looked somewhat reminiscent of da Vinci’s The Last Supper. It was also fairly reminiscent of a painting featuring a bacchanal thrown by the Greek god Dionysus, which given the origins of the Olympics, makes a lot more sense. Thankfully, people on the internet and cable television took the time to understand what was going on and a productive dialogue took place.

Just kidding. That would have been encouraging in this day and age, wouldn’t it? In reality, people got angry. Some thought the Olympics were making an intentional mockery of the Christian faith. The word satanic was bandied about here and there. It was something that the internet algorithms could seize on and amplify to turn an event that is ostensibly supposed to bring the world together into just another rage war.

And y’all, I am sick and tired of rage wars. They are often pointless and provoke people of faith in behaving in some most un-Christlike ways. Reading the responses from some corners of the religious community made me wonder why anyone would want to share a table with a Christian much less go into a church (there were also many Christians and people of faith who responded thoughtfully, alas angry usually gets more traction than thoughtful).

One of the helpful aspects of scripture is how it is multifaceted. You can hear a story over and over again and then the 40th time you here it, it hits you a different way. The Transfiguration is a great story that I have heard many times. I have written blogs and monologues and I think even a skit about it. Yet it wasn’t until today that it struck me how this experience was both such an unbelievable blessing and crushing curse for Peter, James, and John. And perhaps there is something in that two-sided coin for those of us who are trying to do this faith thing.

These three disciples got to witness something that no one else in their group got to witness. They saw their teacher transformed before their eyes. They saw his clothes shine brighter than a flame. Moses and Elijah appeared and spoke with Jesus. Finally they heard the voice from the heavens tell them that this man they were following was the Beloved, God’s own Son. It was simultaneously amazing and terrifying; a spiritual experience like no other and a brain-melting “What the sheol is happening?” moment. And they were the only ones who knew. Jesus told them not to tell anyone else until after all was said and done.

On one hand, that is an amazing gift. They got a peak behind the curtain. Even though they didn’t stay on that mountain like Peter wanted, this trio knew there profound divinity coursing through every moment down in the valley. Each healing, each word had deeper resonance. Perhaps when things went sideways for Jesus, that experience on the mountain was a source of hope. A flashpoint of conviction that despite the present horror that everything would change.

There are times when I find myself wishing that the Gospel writers gave us a little more detail. Actually there are many times when I find myself wishing for that. I know that their aim was not to flesh out the stories of all the “side” characters, but it doesn’t stop me from wondering what all these people were thinking when all this weird Jesus stuff was going on. The word gospel, of course, is ancient Greek for “weird Jesus stuff” (that was a joke; it most definitely is not).

Take the magi for example. They were scholars from the east who saw a great star and journeyed a great distance. Traveling a great distance was not something you did on a whim in those days. It looks some time. You would say goodbye to your friends and family and there was a reasonable chance that goodbye could be final. It was a long journey.

The magi finally arrive in Jerusalem after months or even years of travel. They come to the palace ready to pay homage. And this newborn ruler isn’t there. Not only is he not there, but the king has no earthly idea what they’re talking about and has to meet with his advisors to figure the whole thing out. This is the first thing I wonder: Was there a moment in which they thought they had come all that way for nothing? Were they frustrated? Angry? Did they snipe at each other as they waited for Herod’s scholars to figure things out?