Dec 10

Dec 10 The Dead Are Raised

"Are you the one?"

That question in itself was a bit awkward. John the Baptist and Jesus had history. They were cousins. John had baptized Jesus. In Matthew's account, there was even an exchange where the baptizer balked at immersing his relative from Nazareth. If anyone was to be baptizing the other, John reasoned, it should be Jesus. And then there was the language John used in the wilderness. He baptized with water, but the one coming after him would baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire. John clearly saw himself as a prelude.

"So are you the one? How do we know?"

The answer seems crystal clear. But it only seems obvious after the fact. What exactly was the Messiah supposed to do? Jesus was special, but was he the special one? Is this what John had been waiting for or should he continue to preach of that one still to arrive? After the fact, people read that question as a declaration of doubt. Yet it was a good question. It was awkward, but it was a question that needed to be asked.

Dec 9

Dec 9 Frontiers

Chris Cox

When I was a kid I wanted to be an astronaut, which is to say I was a kid. I memorized the name of all the space shuttles and had a picture of one in my room. I read books about the Apollo missions. I played with space-themed Legos. I had a blue VHS tape that was an infomercial from Space Camp. In my mind, there was nothing more awesome than to explore the frontier beyond this terrestrial ball we call home.

My interests eventually shifted, but the news of John Glenn's passing yesterday caused me to flashback to my childhood. Glenn served in World War II and Korea, he was a U.S. Senator, in 1962 he was the first American to orbit the Earth in the Friendship 7, and then three and a half decades later returned to space on the shuttle Discovery. That that sentence is about a single human being is ridiculously staggering.

Dec 7

Dec 7 Running with Luke

Chris Cox

Running in November and December has been somewhat of a struggle. I've been inconsistent. My pace has fallen off. It gets dark before 5 o'clock now and the home stretch before EA and the boys get here seems to get longer. It's easier to make excuses to just stay home. Running as an outlet has just kind of been off.

I dragged myself out the door after work earlier because it had been nearly a week since I last ran. I had trudged along for about three miles when I was waiting for a crossing signal on Blakemore. As I waited, another guy came running behind me and hit the intersection just as the light changed, allowing him to not lose momentum.

I decided to see if I could keep his slightly faster pace for a bit and ran a few strides behind him.

Dec 4

Dec 4 The Baby Shall Ride a T-Rex

Chris Cox

Weekly Lectionary

In Sunday school this morning, I made an offhand comment that these pictures would be like a baby riding a Tyrannosaurus Rex. That picture makes me smile. So let me humbly and simply continue in that vein.

The mongoose shall hang out with the cobra, cats and dogs shall live together, the angry raccoon shall look out for the Baby Groot, the Koopa Troopa and the plumber shall race together, the Pawneean and Eagletonian shall unite, the cyborg shall cancel the robot uprising, the shark shall decide that fish are friends and not food, and a baby shall ride a T-Rex.

Nov 29

Nov 29 Arrival, Advent, and Leaps of Hope

Chris Cox

No one ever told me that being a parent would turn a trip to the movies into an emotional minefield. I guess I should have known that. Children in peril and loss are common themes in storytelling. But what you know in your head doesn’t always prepare you for what hits you squarely in the heart.

Arrival begins with these beautiful glimpses of a relationship between Louise Banks (played by the incredibly talented Amy Adams) and her daughter. Yet the plaintive score and the dreamlike cinematography alerted me that tragedy was just around the corner. With that sneaking suspicion, it disarmed me when the little girl said “Mommy” in a register very similar to our sons.

Nov 27

Nov 27 Born in a Messed Up Place

Chris Cox

Weekly Lectionary

Isaiah 2:1-5 reads like hope. All nations gather to walk in God's ways of love and justice. Weapons are turned into tools for farming and cultivating the earth. War is no longer taught. The image is beautiful. This is what Advent is about: looking forward to when God will make all things right.

Rewind just a few verses and one sees that Isaiah's vision is born in a time where the opposite is true. The prophet (problematically) calls the city a whore. He states that, once a home of justice and righteousness, it is now a community filled murderers. Everyone is looking to make that extra buck. The orphans are abandoned. The widows are ignored. Everything is broken.

Nov 23

Nov 23 Thankful

Chris Cox

Back in seminary, I was part of a group that was responsible for putting together a chapel service around Thanksgiving. Since I wasn't going to be there for the service, I volunteered to put together a video prayer for the service. I've used it a couple of times since then (including this past week in Sunday school) and have continued to update it (even since this past week in Sunday school).

Before thanking people at camp, my dad typically commented that you get in trouble when you start thanking people because you are bound to leave someone out. I mention that to say that this is not an exhaustive list of those things and people for which I am thankful. The people is pretty much excluded to my immediate family, which is to say, "I'm still thankful for you other family members and friends." I should also mention that there was a cut of this that included my gratitude for "Unfollow" button on Facebook and Twitter, but that didn't seem to be in the proper spirit of things.

Nov 21

Nov 21 356 Miles

Chris Cox

Interstate 40 is a straight shot out of Tennessee. It spits you out in the mountains of North Carolina where you dribble down to Asheville, switch to I-26, and slide on down to the foothills of South Carolina. I drove that familiar path last week as the sun set behind me. I was trying to make up distance and trying to make up time. The home that is my wife and sons was on the other side.

It's 356 miles from where I live in Nashville to where I used to live in Spartanburg. Driving solo between the two, it doesn't feel that long. But there are times when I can feel every inch of the distance. That has been difficult; more so than I thought it would be. Don't get me wrong. I knew it would be tough. When you're not with your wife/best friend of 11 years and the two souls that you swore you'd protect with everything, the absence is going to weigh on you. Yet that distance is a load to bear. When I left to go back to Nashville and my youngest whimpered, "I'm going to miss you," it darn near destroyed me.

Nov 20

Nov 20 Believe in the Kingdom

Chris Cox

Weekly Lectionary

"God is on the throne." I heard that refrain repeatedly in the lead up to and aftermath of the Election. Don't worry, God is on the throne. But there is a disturbing distance to that image, isn't there? Perhaps that's just me.

When things fall apart, the God on the throne seems like the God faraway. When children die, when war breaks out, when hatred devours, God is on the throne? The image of this pristine, heavenly king doesn't seem to connect with a world that needs so much help. I want God to get God's anthropomorphic hands dirty.

Nov 19

Nov 19 Furman at Mercer

Chris Cox

Paladin Preview

October 30, 2026

What's My Name? What's My Station?

I have a new office in our home and one of the things I am enjoying is decorating the space. I have placed books, Lego sets, and Funko Pops on the shelves. My wall has photos of family, places that I have traveled, artwork my siblings have given me, diplomas, etc. Across from my desk on the wall, hangs a cross that we got from a church in Reykjavik and a small colorfully-painted tile depicting Assisi. On the floor beneath them is the one item in here that I haven’t yet put up: my certificate of ordination.

I was ordained as a minister ten years ago today. It was a step with which I struggled for awhile. My Baptist roots fostered in me a firm belief in the priesthood of all believers. If you say that you are a follower of Jesus, then you are a minister. So the hierarchy implied by being called “Reverend” made me feel a little uncomfortable. I did not use the title for myself often unless I was writing my Congressperson. Despite these qualms, I did ultimately pursue ordination. I am glad that I did. I am just not totally sure what to make of it now.

I don’t serve as a vocational minister anymore; not in a church, not as a chaplain, not in some sort of parachurch organization. I am an Administrative Assistant in a hospital Spiritual Care department. In fact, I haven’t even attended a church service in maybe a year and a half save an Ash Wednesday service that I snuck off to at the beginning of Lent. I did officiate a wedding in a church over the summer; an experience that I loved and was very meaningful for me. But I don’t really know what to do about that ordination certificate. Or church.

June 15, 2026

Dangerous Memories and Unfinished Futures

“’Do this in remembrance of me.’ Jesus invites you to commemorate his betrayal, death, and resurrection. His invitation makes space for ‘dangerous memory,’ a memory that, as post-Holocaust Catholic theologian Johann Baptist Metz tells us, ‘puts pressure on and questions our present because in it we remember an unfinished future.’ Memory can unsettle the unreconciled present and open up a future for the hopeless and the forgotten, the failed and the oppressed….Remembering keeps the ghosts alive so that they may warn and comfort, haunt and inspire the living: dangerous memories that rush toward an unfinished future. Making the absent present allows for processing grief, strengthening commitments, and opening up vision. Such remembrance commits you to work for a future for those who have been forgotten, erased, and left behind.”
-Hanna Reichel, For Such a Time as This, 88, 89

I believe that most of us experience an internal tug-of-war between the past and the future. In The Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis’ titular demon supervisor advises his underling Wormwood that one of best ways to keep a human from doing good is to keep them ping-ponging between those two times that are not the present. One keeps trying to recapture or reach towards moments that are mist. It can keep a person from doing something.

The quote above resonates with me because it harnesses the past and unfinished future into a catalyst that animates our present. We remember the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus because it means something today and compels us to presently work for the Good that is already here, but also not yet. We remember the hope and pain of the past to do something that help us take some sort of step each and every day. We realize that the hope which exists within the gospel story is not yet fully realized. Many people are still being left behind and forgotten. The realization, as the theologian Metz states, puts pressure and questions on the present.

June 1, 2026

First Day of Pride

Being a parent forces you to take a close look at yourself. Of course, you don’t have to be a parent to self-examine, but there is something about the reality that another living human is under your care and protection for the foreseeable future that makes you take stock of your strengths, weaknesses, and beliefs. For example, I used to think I was a far more patient person before I had kids; like superhumanly patient. And then a crying toddler shows you the folly of that belief. On the flip side, time has moved on and having two teenagers affirms that, yes, I am ridiculously patient and that has been a strength as a parent.

Among many other reorienting moments that came with parenthood was full acceptance of our LGBTQ+ siblings. That process began many years earlier. As someone who studied religion, I knew that the biblical case against these individuals was not nearly as airtight as I was previously led to believe. Science and stories from people gave strong indication that this life was not a choice. And I had met gay and lesbian folks who were good people. The old axiom that you will know a tree by its fruit applies here.

But the tipping point was holding a tiny infant who I loved more than I thought possible and knowing that I never wanted him to be ashamed of who he is. I did not want a potential future in which one of my children came out as something other than heterosexual with the fear that we would not love them. Not accepting my child was not even conceivably on the table. So we raised our kids to know that LGBTQ+ were beloved members of God’s creation.

May 24, 2026

Not a Defeat If You Can Find a Way to Laugh About It

There is this typical ice breaker question that is some variation of “If you could have dinner with anyone famous living or dead, who would it be?” And one of my steadfast answers for almost twenty years has been Stephen Colbert. Through both The Colbert Report and The Late Show, he has given hours upon hours of laughter and more than enough on which to ponder. I feel like we’d have a lot to talk about since we are both unabashed nerds, products of the Palmetto State, and he just seems like a good hang.

Beyond all of that, I appreciate how honestly and humbly Colbert approaches his faith. There have been numerous times over the years when his comedy and conversations take a turn into the spiritual that is challenging and convicting. I remember an episode of The Colbert Report where one minute he was making a joke about Ben Franklin’s predilection for French prostitutes and then organically made his way to the following quote:

If this is going to be a Christian nation that doesn't help the poor, either we have to pretend that Jesus was just as selfish as we are, or we've got to acknowledge that He commanded us to love the poor and serve the needy without condition and then admit that we just don't want to do it.

Then there are the interviews that he has conducted on The Late Show. Colbert has said that he sort of found the heart of his show when he had a conversation with then-Vice President Biden about grief. Indeed the loss of his father and brothers at a young age has led him to create an empathetic space to explore loss in the midst of celebrities promoting their most recent projects (my mind immediately comes to a conversation that he had with Andrew Garfield about the loss of the actor’s mother).

May 21, 2026

While I Breathe, I Hope

On the way to school, the youngest burrowed his head into my arm. “I don’t like that you’re getting older.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you’re one year closer to death.”

“There it is.” That’s my kid. Very sweet. Very sensitive. Brutally, bordering on inappropriately blunt. “Well, it’s better than the alternative.”

“Getting younger?” He thinks for a second. “Oh…dying.”

“Yeah, you can’t get younger.” I scratch him on the head. “And hopefully I have a ways to go. Ideally, I’ll still be kicking around when you turn 43.”

“You’ll be 73. So that’s reasonable”

“Yeah.”

“Granddad will be 103.”

“Less likely. But maybe. I hope he is as long as he’s happy.”

“And healthy. Happy, healthy, and alive.” Then he goes into a bit from an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine which makes me laugh.

Birthdays, as my oldest posited this morning, are kind of weird when you get older. Or at least they morph into something different from the second Christmas-esque excitement when you’re a kid. Because there does get to be that point where it creeps into your mind that you are a year closer to death. And that forces you take stock of your life which is a hit-or-miss affair due to being human’s volatility.

May 18, 2026

To Jim on his 16th Birthday

One day last week, I picked you up from school after took one of your AP exams and then I moved over to the passenger seat so you could practice driving. In the midst of being hyper vigilant about your speed, how quickly you stopped, how close you were to the side of the road, and what every single other car on the road was doing, I had a distinct moment of looking over at you and realizing that so much is changing. And we’re only at the start.

Today you turn 16. You are about to wrap up your sophomore year of high school. You’ll take a driver’s license test in just a few weeks. We have three more summers before you go off to college. There are times it seems like yesterday when you were sitting in the living room watching cartoons with a couple of dozen superhero toys. There are times it seems like last week when you were a newborn sleeping in my arms.

The feeling of you being 16 is kind of like being the passenger in the car while you are driving. I have a ton of confidence in you and trust you. And I worry about your lack of experience in a big, sometimes frightening world and whether I have taught you well enough. I am wary of everyone else on the road. I wonder if you are going too fast even though you are going an appropriate speed and I am the one who encouraged you not to go as slow in the first place. It is all very exciting, humbling, frightening, and new.

April 21, 2026

What Nintendo Can Teach the Church

Christmas 1988. My brother Taylor and I receive the Nintendo Entertainment System packaged with Super Mario Bros. and Duck Hunt and we have been fans ever since. We have grown up with the Japanese company’s gaming systems; the adventures of Mario, Luigi, Yoshi, Link, Zelda, Donkey and Diddy Kong, and more have been a consistent presence in our lives. Even though we are in three different states now as adults, Taylor, my sister Shari, myself, and our kids will get together every so often and play Mario Kart online. We love Nintendo, which is a weird thing to say about a corporation that makes a billion dollars but it is what it is.

With all that said, I loved the Keza MacDonald’s book Super Nintendo: The Game-Changing Company That Unlocked the Power of Play. Not only is it an engaging journey through video game history through the lens of Nintendo’s iconic (and less iconic) franchises, but the book also has a great deal to say about creativity, community, and culture. In fact, it is that last idea that got me thinking about how this video game company can teach the church (or any other organization) even as I am a bit of an outsider to that world presently.

Here is one of two quotes that jumped out at me from the chapter “Splatoon” which looks at how Nintendo continues innovate and create over 40 years into its video game endeavors:

April 12, 2026

Easter Orphans, A Lost Cat, and A Tightrope Called Hope

“Happy Easter?”

That is the first thing EA said to me as I woke up on Easter morning. I stretched and rubbed my eyes.

“I still believe in Jesus. It’s just the church that I’m not sure about.”

Some context: This was the first Easter in our 20+ years of marriage (and likely in either of our lives) in which we did not have a church to attend. It’s been about a year since we’ve gone to church as a family. Honestly, the church that we attended after I stepped down from working in a congregation had a tall order to tend to our hurting family. It was a good group of people, but the services and community never really clicked with our boys. Then early last year, I got moved to a Sunday morning shift. EA tried for a bit to go by herself but it wasn’t what she needed. In the end, I was gone for about eight months before anyone in the church really noticed and we decided to take a break.

I acknowledge my uncertainty about the church is a bit over-dramatic. Of course, there are great churches out there. There are wonderful people in congregations where my family and I have experienced the most pain. It’s akin to writing off burritos for life because you got violent food poisoning from one (This is based on a true story; I have not written off burritos just that particular Chipotle location). But the church hurt is real. As is the MAGA-fication of the denomination in which I grew up that feels so antithetical to the teachings of Jesus. So we don’t have a place to call home and it’s weird and sad and understandable.

April 1, 2026

Lent Fail

Absurdist Note: I really want to add “Woo-ooh!” after the title. If you know, you know.

I have not pulled off this year’s Lenten disciplines the way that I set out to. When this 40 day period began, I set out to take on this fasts/spiritual practices:

Stop drinking Coca-Cola
Stop eating French fries
Stop playing Disney Solitaire on my phone
Do a daily devotional from Richard Rohr’s Wondrous Encounters
Write a blog five days a week

When the war in Iran began and threw another log on the fire that is the world, it pained me both spiritually and physically. One of the ways that played out was headaches and since headaches were already part of removing the caffeine of Coca-Cola from my life, I decided I probably shouldn’t compound a problem and began drinking Coke again. I have had French fries a few times; not many, mind you, but enough to break up the fast. There have been several multiple day stretches where I did not do my devotional. And my efforts to blog five times a week quickly fell by the wayside. I have managed to keep from playing Disney Solitaire, but that still puts my Lenten average in Mendoza Line territory.

March 29, 2026

An Awkward Parade (Revisited)

Several hundred, some may say several thousand, years worth of anticipation hung thick in the air. Like summer humidity that sticks to your shirt the second you step outside, you couldn’t avoid it if you wanted to. Especially not during Passover week.

There was a guy making his way into Jerusalem; a guy claiming to be the Messiah. This was nothing new. He would not be the first that people claimed would save us. There had been tons of guys going around saying that they were the One; saying that they were going to show Rome what’s what. So a would-be messiah making his way to Jerusalem was about as common as a singer-songwriter making their way to Nashville.

But this felt different. He seemed different. Now there was a fair amount of debate whether he was the right or wrong kind of different. For starters, word got out that he had tried to keep a lot of the messiah talk and even tales of his miracles under wraps. But it is difficult to keep those kind of stories quiet: dead men walking, the blind seeing, demons plunging a herd of pigs over a cliff, and thousands fed from a lunch meant for a single kid. You can tell people to keep that hush-hush all you want, but it’s not going to happen.