two words that shape my faith

I’m not a Muslim because of two words. I have friends who follow the teachings of Mohammed regarding Allah, and I love them, but could never take their path.

These two words safeguard me from turning to agnosticism or atheism. I can’t fall away from the faith because of the way these two words are put together. I can admire some of the kinder gentler tenets and proverbs of various eastern religions but would rue the day before entrusting my eternal destiny to them.

Here they are, in all their glory. Sit before them and be amazed:

Jesus wept.

Call me an old softie, but I quite like a deity who feels what I feel. Isaiah promised a Messiah who “suffers when we suffer” (Isa 63:9). Paul didn’t say God merely pities us, he said the Father spills over with mercy and embraces us with smothering comfort (2 Cor 1:3).


Jesus is no remote deity, watching suffering from a safe distance. He is the God who inhabits our suffering.

– Rebecca McLaughlin


John, specifically, zeros in on the “I AM” episodes of Jesus in his gospel. When you see “I AM” in scripture your mind probably goes to burning bushes and almightiness, shoes-off zone, time’s-up for oppressive regimes, and the like. You envision an all-caps “LORD” not the lower case kind.

John’s gospel shows us the I AM-ness of the Almighty also allows space for himself to weep. Anger from deity we get, but sorrow? Tears?

Jesus is called “Man of Sorrows” in Isaiah and our Lord is not the least bit embarrassed by that designation. The powerful “I AM” is moved to tears and that moves me. As the Holy Spirit moved John along to pen the words to his gospel, he let the aged apostle know he wanted this most vulnerable part of Christ’s earthly ministry published for all the see.

“Jesus wept.”

First he snorted like a Roman warhorse, then he sniffled and sobbed. A lot of folk prefer their Messiah to be all thunder and lightning and calling down of fire. Others can only stomach a gentle and lowly Savior.

With Jesus you get both, but mostly the Jesus you get in the gospels is the One who enters into our pain.

There are two times in the gospels we find Jesus weeping. Here, and in Luke.

Jesus doesn’t just “feel your pain.” He also hates it. He hates what it does to you. He sees the long game, that every eye will be dried one day and there will be no more pain, but he also meets us in our most painful moments with mercy and justice in the here and now.

In “The Lion King” when Simba returns after a long time away and sees what Scar has done to the kingdom, plunging it into death and despair, there is an alarming look of righteous anger that clouds his countenance.

That’s what’s going on just before the dam inside Jesus of Nazareth breaks.

Weeping Jesus sees the enemy of this world wreaking havoc on his creation, disturbing the order. The same emotion Jesus felt when he saw the court of the Gentiles being barred and barricaded by hucksters, charlatans and snake oil salesmen, preventing the people from gathering to worship, is the emotion of this anger he felt outside Bethany. If he had had a whip in his hands he would’ve been swinging it at the enemy.

I’ll follow a God like that anywhere and all the way into eternity.

Selah, beloved.

thirty thoughts

©️Pasturescott

John 11:25-26
Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?”

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Today our son would turn 30.

We miss him:

His easy manner.

His cocked-and-ready smile.

His crazy, over-the-top humor.

His adventurous spirit.

His companionship.

His quick wit.

The way he so easily befriended the marginalized.

How he was completely cool with his being adopted.

How he hated to see those he loved suffer.

When he played his soothing guitar late at night.

How he always, ALWAYS, said “I love you” at the end of a phone conversation.

How he loved surprises.

His sincere questions about faith and life.

How he despised hypocrisy.

How easily he could forgive.

How hard he hugged.

Whenever he did his Chris Farley impersonations.

Even his tattoos (not all of them, mind you).

How he was his own unique brand.

Today he would turn 30.

Our faith reminds us every day we will see him again; not some idea of him or a mystical hologram version, but him.

In all His glory.

CS Lewis once said regarding those we love who are now in heaven we’d be tempted to fall down and worship them as the version they are now, so great is the glory they are wrapped in.

What a glorious thought.

A blind friend came to the funeral home and handed me a scrap of paper with a message his wife helped him write. It said, “Next time you see Graham he will be running toward you, gleaming.”

That will be then, thank Jesus, but today we grieve that that day is not today.

We miss him something fierce.

Another friend told Sandy and me after the funeral, “I don’t want to ‘be remembering’ Graham, I want to be knowing him.”

We do too.

I’d want to hug him hard and tell my boy so many things so much differently.

But the one thing I’d say exactly the same is “I love you son. I’m glad you’re mine.”

What I want to say to him on his 30th birthday…

What I really, REALLY want to tell him is:

“Graham Scott Mitchell, we’re so happy to see you again. We’ve missed you like you wouldn’t believe.”

home for christmas


It rained. Oh, how it rained!

A rather unfestive three days before Christmas, the storms were so bad we couldn’t get out of the van to watch the men lower our son’s body into its resting-place. The very best we could do was pull up beside the gravesite and witness the hurried ceremony, if you could even call it that. I could see my wife’s breath on the window from her passenger seat, forming little clouds of moisture as she looked on, reverently. We held hands.

It seemed oddly profane to see our son lowered as the running rain sluiced into the earthen hole. It was made doubly so by not having the familiar words spoken over the descending casket but rather the hasty work of workmen finishing before the hole flooded.

It was December 22 and Christmas felt so far away. 

Four years have passed since that driving rainstorm served as the backdrop of one of our little family’s toughest days. It did not, however, drown our hope. Our only child – in spite of trauma, tragedy, and devilish snare – made it home for Christmas by the grace of God.

Funny what you think about in moments of deep sorrow.

Graham leading worship at The Garden in Atlanta, our last Father’s Day together

The last time I was in Graham’s company on a good day (re: clean and living with purpose) I watched him lead worship at a place called The Garden. Fittingly, it was Father’s Day, and, quite incidentally, a bright, sunny morning.

He was clad in jeans and a white fedora, with an electric guitar cradled around his broad shoulders. There was an array of snaking wires and guitar pedals at his feet. Me, I sat on the opposite side of the platform and just beamed at my boy. With axe in hand, Graham was pretty incredible if I do say so. 

I believe my son chose the first song of the worship set as a means of introducing us to himself in terms he could easily have written. I’m going to add the lyrics because it’s important to know what his heart was conveying in that unworldly moment; chiefly, that he was averse to being fake, a kid who wanted nothing more than to “make it home” by God’s grace…in spite of himself.

Here’s how Graham wanted to be remembered. This is what he wanted his mom and I to think about in that driving rain on that cold, December Sunday afternoon:

(Momma & Dad,)

I’m not trying to hide anything
I wear it on my sleeve
I wear it on my sleeve
I’m not trying to be something I’m not
This is all I’ve got
This is all I’ve got

I’m not trying to re-invent the wheel
Just trying to be real
Trying to be real
I’m not trying to say follow me
I’m not the one who leads
I’m not the one who leads

Let me introduce myself to you
This is who I am
No more, no less
I am just a man who understands
Because of You I’m blessed
No more, no less

I’m not trying to prove anything
It’s all about the change
It’s all about the change

I hope you stare just long enough to see
The heart that’s beating here inside of me
Beyond all the things you may think you know
I’m just a kid trying to make it home, that’s it
No more, no less

Lord, I want to go home
Nothing more, nothing less

Advent in our household means there’s no higher joy than our kid being home, safe and sound.

Would we love to have our own ‘Maxwell House long lost son home for the holidays waking the parents up with the aroma of coffee’ version of Christmas? A small part of us would, but then it occurs to us: Graham already beat us home.

Selah, beloved.

From us to you, the happiest of Christmases and the joy of the Spirit of Christ – who is our eternal Home – be yours.