tag:btirwin.svbtle.com,2014:/feedBT Irwin Posts2023-12-29T04:20:12-08:00BT Irwinhttps://btirwin.svbtle.comSvbtle.comtag:btirwin.svbtle.com,2014:Post/forty-eight2023-12-29T04:20:12-08:002023-12-29T04:20:12-08:00I'm thinking about three men on my 48th birthday<p><a href="https://svbtleusercontent.com/xhqtdeBhBcWUvZAx2Auk1x0xspap.jpg"><img src="https://svbtleusercontent.com/xhqtdeBhBcWUvZAx2Auk1x0xspap_small.jpg" alt="rob-wicks-XyrZYDr2jWM-unsplash.jpg"></a><br>
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<p>I turned 48 this week. </p>
<p>Birthdays make me think hard about life. What about you? </p>
<p>On this birthday, three men are on my mind. </p>
<p>This first is my great grandfather, Bethel Irwin. I don’t know what he was doing when he was 48 years old, but it had to be bad. He left my great grandmother alone with nine kids. He was a drinker, philanderer, and, as the family story goes, a pimp.</p>
<p>So far, I’ve made better choices than Papaw Bethel, but I have his DNA. I’m capable of doing whatever he did (and don’t think I haven’t thought about it). </p>
<p>The second man on my mind is my grandfather, Walter Irwin. Papaw did a lot of good things for a lot of people, but I think he wanted to do <em>great</em> things. Things that would get him into a hall of fame.</p>
<p>Papaw was eight years old when his father left. A boy that age does not suffer that kind of wound without it scarring him for life. As a young man, Papaw tried to get into the armed forces so he could fight in World War II. A childhood injury, however, kept him out of the service. He was the only one among his brothers who did not fight. They came home war heroes. I have a feeling he never got over being the one who was not “fit” to serve. </p>
<p>Perhaps that is one reason that Papaw worked so, so hard. He devoted himself to building churches and he was good at it. He traveled far and wide, helping little “storefront churches” grow and raise money for new church buildings. In cities and towns all over the country, you can still find many of those buildings that Papaw built. </p>
<p>The road, however, was hard on him. He found a congregation he loved and thought he could serve as minister for many years. He looked forward to putting down roots in the community and raising his family there. But he misplayed (or refused to play) church politics and lost his job after less than two years. I think he never got over that hurt. He never tried full-time congregational ministry again. </p>
<p>Instead, he went into insurance and investments. He made good money until his boss went to prison for securities fraud. A jury found that Papaw did not commit a crime nor was he an accomplice to one. Even so, he endured “guilt by association” and the loss of his professional license. The damage to his good name had to be as painful as any other loss he suffered.</p>
<p>By the time he was 48, I think Papaw was plotting grander and grander projects. I have a feeling he calculated their grandness to more than make up for all of his losses. Sadly, none of those ideas turned out as Papaw planned. Each grand plan that failed added to his losses and made it necessary for the next grand plan to be even grander. By the time he died, Papaw was out of money and out of time. </p>
<p>I’m a lot like Papaw. I’ve never felt like I measured up, so I’ve always felt like I have to do something great with my life to prove myself. I <em>need</em> to do “great things” so I can be sure that I <em>deserve</em> the love of others. So I can be sure that it is OK to love myself. </p>
<p>The third man on my mind is my father, Travis Irwin. When he was 48 years old, he was on the Hillary Step of his career in congregational ministry. When he was my age, Dad was doing what few Church of Christ ministers outside the Bible Belt ever get to do: Help more than double the membership of a local congregation and raise the funds to build a new campus. Dad was not only an excellent evangelist, minister, and pastor, he was the only person I ever knew who seemed to enjoy <em>universal</em> admiration, affection, and respect. He seemed to be <em>beloved</em> by all. </p>
<p>But when he turned 48, Dad was already well on his way to an emotional, mental, physical, and spiritual breakdown. He took too much on himself. He tried to do too many things at once. Why? Oh, he loved. Yes. But he later confessed to me that he didn’t trust anyone else to do what he thought only he could do. He committed the sin of believing on some level that he was the <em>essential</em> man. He paid for that sin when his collapse forced him to give up his congregation and his prime working years. I think the damage he did to his body from the ages of 48 to 53 led to his early death less than three months after his 72nd birthday.</p>
<p>I didn’t think I was much like Dad until the last few months showed me the truth. I abused every part of me to take on too many good things. Yes, all of them were for love. But maybe, like Papaw, I was trying to prove something, too. Maybe, like Dad, I thought I was the one “essential” man in all of it. </p>
<p>And, like Papaw Bethel, I chose poor forms of self-medication to get me through it. </p>
<p>As a consequence, no part of me has ever felt worse than now. </p>
<p>Bethel, Walter, and Travis were men who possessed great gifts and great passions. I have no doubt Papaw and Dad truly loved people and that is why they worked so hard. They did a lot of good with their lives and their work, as thousands of people will attest to this day. </p>
<p>But they sometimes gave in to their weakness and woundedness. </p>
<p>They paid for it and so did the people closest to them.</p>
<p>I think 48 was a crucial age for them. They made choices of grave consequence, both to themselves and the people in their lives. Some of those choices affect people who are still living today. I should know. </p>
<p>So now that I’m 48 years old, what will I do with this crucial age? </p>
<p>Well, I hope to do a little good by the grace of God. </p>
<p>And, I will make mistakes, too. I will sin. I hope I learned enough from the three Irwin men who came before me to avoid the same big mistakes they made. For sure, I do not expect to become a pimp like Papaw Bethel!</p>
<p>This is what I think God would have me do: <em>Be content</em> (Hebrews 13:5). <em>Give thanks</em> (1 Thessalonians 5:16). <em>Let go</em> (Colossians 3:15). <em>Relax.</em> Do what God puts at hand for me to do (Ecclesiastes 9:10). Enjoy here and now (Matthew 6:34). Flee temptation to be god-like or a mini messiah (1 Samuel 15:12). “Simplify, simplify (Thoreau).”</p>
<p>That is all.</p>
<p><em>God, thank you for all the good I inherited from the men who came before me and whose blood is the life in my 48-year old body (for which I give special thanks this week). Thank you for the honor and opportunity to continue their stories. Thank you for the wisdom I gain from their mistakes. Thank you for revealing that I am no better and no worse than them. Help me to accept and receive your love and the love of those you put in my life for the purpose of love. Help me to live a simple life by your grace for as many days as you give me.</em> Amen.</p>
<p>Grace and peace.</p>
tag:btirwin.svbtle.com,2014:Post/covid-christmastime-is-here2023-12-23T04:42:19-08:002023-12-23T04:42:19-08:00(COVID) Christmastime is here<p><a href="https://svbtleusercontent.com/9Ebb3vt7mXCcYysKPTViaj0xspap.jpg"><img src="https://svbtleusercontent.com/9Ebb3vt7mXCcYysKPTViaj0xspap_small.jpg" alt="volodymyr-hryshchenko-fSrp3Ju-xrI-unsplash.jpg"></a><br>
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<p>I’m writing this two days before Christmas 2023.</p>
<p>Yesterday, we found out that my son, Daniel, has more than a cold; he has COVID. He’ll get over it. Our plans for Christmas, however, will not.</p>
<p>This Christmas was never going to be “normal” like the Christmases in our memories. For my wife, it is the third Christmas since her dad died. For me, it is the second without my dad and the first without my grandmama.</p>
<p>We already knew that my wife’s sister and her family would not make it to town for Christmas Day this year as they did in the past. </p>
<p>Still, this Christmas seemed to be setting up for feeling <em>kind of</em> normal. </p>
<p>Well, not now. </p>
<p>We dodged COVID in 2020, 2021, and 2022. We were overdue. </p>
<p>Last night, I took a walk after dark. The folks in our neighborhood go all out to decorate their homes for Christmas. It seems like every house has Christmas lights on its outside and a Christmas tree in its front window. A chore like walking the dog at night becomes something like a dream. </p>
<p>I passed several houses where people were arriving for Christmas parties and family get-togethers. I heard children laughing and shouting. I smelled smoke from crackling fireplaces. It was like a scene from Dickens. </p>
<p>I felt lonely and sad. </p>
<p>Then I thought: “What <em>is</em> a ‘normal’ Christmas, anyway?”</p>
<p>As I walked on through the night, I thought about two things that are true.</p>
<p>First, I am unlikely to ever have a “normal” Christmas again. That is because “normal” is a word that gets its definition from my memory. And my memory is nostalgic for people and places that are long gone. Never again will I celebrate Christmas with my dad. Never again will I celebrate Christmas as the father of a small child who doesn’t act like a teenager. Never again will I celebrate Christmas as a young man who can eat however much of whatever without a bottle of TUMS.</p>
<p>If “normal” is nostalgia, then I have to give up ever having another “normal” Christmas again. I can’t conjure the past. It happened. It was good. I am thankful. It is over. A moment for grief and then onward and upward.</p>
<p>Second, the first family of Christmas was homeless, hungry, and poor. Can you imagine being “groaning pregnant” and traveling 90 miles by donkey? Can you imagine arriving at your destination only to find no private room with a bed? Can you imagine going into labor and giving birth in a barn? Can you imagine how miserable you would be on that first Christmas? </p>
<p>Yet the birth of that baby brought great joy to those who knew about it.</p>
<p>My little family may be shut up in our home this Christmas, but we will have plenty of goodies to eat, plenty of presents to open, plenty of TV to watch, and plenty of seasoned hard wood to feed the fire in the fireplace all day. We will have access to health care if we need it. We will be able to visit with our family and friends over our computers or phones. And, if we feel bad, we will be able to medicate and sleep in comfortable beds in quiet rooms. </p>
<p>That’s more than I can say for families in Gaza or Ukraine. </p>
<p>That’s more than I can say for some households in my own town. </p>
<p>That’s *a lot * more than I can say for Jesus, Joseph, and Mary on the first Christmas.</p>
<p>So I will not complain about this COVID Christmas. Indeed, I will give thanks for it and treasure it. After all, if I’ve learned anything from the last three Christmases, it’s that this Christmas could be my last one. Why waste it by dwelling on everything that is not going to plan? </p>
<p>And I will ask God to change me this Christmas. How might a Christmas, shut in and sick, form me into the kind of person who befriends, encourages, and lifts up those who are shut in and sick all year long? </p>
<p>Would this not be the gift the Christ would give me (if I would accept it) this Christmas? Of all the gifts that I could open this year, I pray that my heart will be open to receive this one most of all!</p>
<p>Pray for all who are sick and suffering this Christmas. When God prompts you and provides opportunity, do whatever he shows you to do for them. </p>
<p>Give thanks for all that you <em>do</em> have this Christmas. </p>
<p>Remember that all the good that you have is a gift from the “giver of all good things.” And the best gift of all is one who was born, sojourned with us as a human being, died, rose again, and filled the universe with his spirit of love.</p>
<p>So whether this is a Christmas of joy or suffering, the Christ shares in it with us. Remember, he was born in a barn and died on a stake. </p>
<p>But he now lives in the realm of glory and joy and peace.</p>
<p>So, if you believe, you can be sure that the best Christmases are not in your past; they are always yet to come!</p>
<p>And God truly does bless us. Every one.</p>
<p>Merry Christmas!</p>
tag:btirwin.svbtle.com,2014:Post/make-friends-of-your-troubles2023-11-26T06:24:42-08:002023-11-26T06:24:42-08:00Make friends of your troubles<p><a href="https://svbtleusercontent.com/ro4RJE6obsckhiFCuDWEVi0xspap.jpg"><img src="https://svbtleusercontent.com/ro4RJE6obsckhiFCuDWEVi0xspap_small.jpg" alt="roan-lavery-UaxkX3rJh68-unsplash.jpg"></a><br>
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<p>I like to go for quiet walks alone after dark.</p>
<p>Though my route is safe, I am often followed by stalkers.</p>
<p>They are the troubles of life that haunt me on a lonely road on a still night. </p>
<p>When I was young, I tried to outrun them. </p>
<p>When I could not outrun them, I tried to exorcise them like demons. </p>
<p>The wisdom of my age, however, is that I know I can neither cast out the troubles of life nor outrun them. </p>
<p>They will always be with me. Wherever I go, there they will be, too. </p>
<p>We live in a culture that believes that if a person can gain enough power and make enough money, he or she can live free of trouble. </p>
<p>It’s funny (not funny) that most of us don’t believe that in our heart of hearts, but we can’t think of any better way to live. So we just go with it. We spend our lives trying to “move up” because we think that by “moving up” we might just be one of the lucky few to gain the upper hand on trouble. </p>
<p>I think those who did “move up,” maybe even <em>all</em> the way up, will tell you (if they’re honest) that all you get when you “move up” is more expensive trouble that can screw up life more for more people. </p>
<p>We can’t out-earn and out-smart trouble. </p>
<p>Trouble is a constant in life, no matter your tax bracket, title, and ZIP code.</p>
<p>So make friends with your troubles; they will always be with you.</p>
<p>Choose to be happy, no matter what, because the matters of life will never line up with your plans or your wishes.</p>
<p>“…for I have learned to be content with whatever I have. I know what it is to have little, and I know what it is to have plenty. In any and all circumstances I have learned the secret of being well-fed and of going hungry, of having plenty and of being in need: <em>I can do all things through him who strengthens me</em>” (Philippians 4:11b-13).</p>
<p>Grace and peace.</p>
tag:btirwin.svbtle.com,2014:Post/it-happened-and-it-was-good2023-10-15T05:41:20-07:002023-10-15T05:41:20-07:00It happened and it was good<p><a href="https://svbtleusercontent.com/72oxSkFaVdRtykSLRsKPzm0xspap.jpeg"><img src="https://svbtleusercontent.com/72oxSkFaVdRtykSLRsKPzm0xspap_small.jpeg" alt="385094467_10163266420418858_4101417293879333748_n.jpeg"></a></p>
<p>Since 2020, <strong><em>grief</em></strong>, a word I rarely used in my first 45 years, became the biggest word in the “word cloud” of my life. </p>
<p>I grieved the loss of “normal” when the pandemic hit. I grieved losing the illusion that “normal” is not so fragile that a breath can blow it away. </p>
<p>Cancer killed my dad in 2022. I had a bedside seat to his suffering. I heard and saw him struggle to take his last breaths. Dad’s death blew a hole in my world. The way he died traumatized me. </p>
<p>Earlier this year, a brother in Christ who I also thought to be a friend, fired me from my job for no real reason and with no warning. For 29 years, I gave my best as a donor, employee, student, and volunteer at the Christian institution where I hoped and planned to minister for the rest of my career. It took less than five minutes for that institution to let me go. And not just let me go, but in a way that it would jettison bad employees. The ones that fail to perform, get caught in unethical behavior, or violate institutional policy. I grieve not only the loss of a job, but the loss of that 29-year relationship (and all that I hoped was yet to come). I grieve the blow I took to my dignity and self-confidence.</p>
<p>My age amplifies that grief. I’m in midlife, entering the back half of my career. I grieve that failures and setbacks like a job loss cost me far more now than they did when I was young. I don’t have as much time left to try to get my career back on track. I grieve how the future gets less sure and more short. </p>
<p>I grieve that my son is growing up so fast. This fall, he started his last year of elementary school. Where did the time go? He’s our only one, which stirs up my grief over the one we lost to a miscarriage. I grieve that I will never get to be a daddy to a daughter or two and more sons. I grieve for my son’s grief at not having siblings. </p>
<p>I grieve my church. It’s not what it used to be. </p>
<p>I grieve my country. It’s not what it used to be either.</p>
<p>I grieve how my best and oldest friendships faded so much over the last few years. Space and time separated us so that most of what we share in common is almost all in the past now. </p>
<p>The week that I write this, I grieve my Grandmama. She died at age 95. To tell the truth, her death was somewhat of a relief. The last few years, I grieved–in slow motion–her despair, isolation, and sadness as age and disability shrunk her world to one chair in one room. </p>
<p>I grieve all of this. I grieve it so hard. </p>
<p>The Christian tradition in which I grew up doesn’t have a lot of room for grief. We’re the kind of people who, depending on the generation, are either stoic or saccharine about it. </p>
<p>But these days, I don’t feel like acting like my grief doesn’t matter or explaining it away with platitudes like “God has a plan.” The way I see it, grief is as true as a river that breaks through its dam and returns to its natural course. Grief must be of God for, if we are made in the image of God, then surely we are made to feel what God feels. </p>
<p>So if I grieve, then God must at least be capable of grief, too. </p>
<p>I can trust a God like that. I may not be able to explain anything that happened over the last few years. I may not be able to “make it all better.” </p>
<p>But if I know that God grieves, that is enough for me to have faith and hope. </p>
<p>I think that God has given me a little prayer for my grief. I say it under my breath as often as grief overcomes me. It goes like this: “It happened and it was good.” </p>
<p>“Normal” life before 2016 and 2020 happened and it was good. </p>
<p>My dad’s life happened and it was good.</p>
<p>My son’s childhood happened and it was good.</p>
<p>My 29 years at that Christian institution happened and they were good.</p>
<p>I grew up in my church and my country and it was good.</p>
<p>My grandmother’s life happened (for 95 years!) and it was good.</p>
<p>My own life happened up to this point and it was good.</p>
<p>No loss can take away that all of this happened and all of it was good.</p>
<p>“It happened and it was good” reveals that my grief is actually gratitude. </p>
<p>Gratitude to a God who grieves with me. </p>
<p>I can trust a God like that.</p>
tag:btirwin.svbtle.com,2014:Post/mirror2023-07-03T08:51:27-07:002023-07-03T08:51:27-07:00What I see in the mirror of Scripture...and starting a study on the "Fruit of the Spirit"<p><a href="https://svbtleusercontent.com/2sCHeg83mbk9Nws6QNbxeB0xspap.jpg"><img src="https://svbtleusercontent.com/2sCHeg83mbk9Nws6QNbxeB0xspap_small.jpg" alt="denny-muller-4NcVKXV3OAI-unsplash.jpg"></a><br>
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<p>Christians in my tradition love Bible stories, but we’re not always good at them. We tend to <em>always</em> look for life, or moral, applications.</p>
<p>Anyone who ever read <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Judges+19+-21&version=NRSVUE">Judges 19 - 21</a> knows how ridiculous that can get. </p>
<p>But I think that many, if not most, Bible stories are not in there to teach moral lessons; they’re in there to be mirrors through which we see our own lives. </p>
<p>For example, it is easy for a comfortable American Christian to listen to the story of the Exodus and criticize the Hebrews for failing to trust God. </p>
<p>It is easy to make the moral of the story: “See, you should always trust God.”</p>
<p>The kindergartners at Vacation Bible School can get that point. </p>
<p>But the story of the Exodus is in the Bible as a mirror through which we see that <em>we</em> are as disobedient and untrusting as the Hebrews. In the Exodus story we see our own condition before God.</p>
<p>That is, if we have ears to hear and eyes to see, as Someone once said. </p>
<p>I bring up the Exodus because it may be the mirror in which I see myself most often. I <em>am</em> one of those Hebrews going somewhere with God and not sure that: 1) I <em>want</em> to go there, 2) God knows <em>how</em> to get me there, and 3) it is even God who is leading me there.</p>
<p>One thing that strikes me about the Exodus story is how God’s people ping pong between glory and shame. For example, as soon as God leads them through the Red Sea and drowns Pharaoh’s army, they complain to Moses that they will die of thirst (see <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Exodus+14-15&version=NRSVUE">Book of Exodus 14 - 15</a>). </p>
<p>How I am just like that as I go through life with God! </p>
<p>In December 2021, a woman in my congregation gave one of the best Christmas gifts I ever received: She followed me into the church parking lot one day and offered to pay the full tuition it would take for me to enroll in the <a href="https://rochesteru.edu/academic/graduate/graduate-program-of-theology-overview/">Master of Religious Education Missional Leadership program at Rochester University</a>. </p>
<p>This generous surprise resurrected a long-dead dream of mine. Now I am writing this post on summer break, with just two semesters to go. Glory!</p>
<p>Last summer, just a couple of weeks after my dad died, <a href="https://christianchronicle.org/">The Christian Chronicle</a> asked me to create and direct its weekly features and news podcast. We launched the podcast this January. Finding ways to inform and inspire thousands of Christians around the world every week is the most fulfilling and stimulating thing I’ve ever done in my ministry career. Glory!</p>
<p>But on May 5 of this year, without notice or warning, my employer let me go from my job. I was told to pack my things and leave without saying goodbye to my colleagues or donors. Shame. </p>
<p>And, with job loss comes financial strain for my family. More shame. </p>
<p>So in the Exodus story, I see…me. Glory and shame staying in the same queen double. One moment I praise the grace and provision of God. The next moment, I doubt that God is even there at all! </p>
<p>Far from any life application or moral, perhaps the Exodus story shows us that the people of God can do no better than put one foot in front of the other. Even if one step is a stride of glory and the next is tripping into shame. Forward progress does not come by anything but the grace of God. </p>
<p>What can I do but hold onto my meager belief and pray God’s mercy for when my belief fails? </p>
<p>A few months ago, I <a href="https://btirwin.svbtle.com/joy-and-sadness">promised</a> I would take up writing again this summer when I don’t have any papers or projects to turn in for grad school. </p>
<p>So here we are.</p>
<p>Until school starts again in September, I plan to use this space to start writing the book I’ve had in mind for a couple of years now. </p>
<p>Heather, if you’re reading this, the last sentence is for you. Thank you.</p>
<p>The book idea that came to me is a specific application of the “Fruit of the Spirit” from the Letter to the <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Galatians+5%3A22-23&version=NRSVUE">Galatians 5:22-23</a>. I want that application to be a surprise for later. This summer, I will post a short study each week on the nine “fruits” from the text: Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. </p>
<p>Once school starts in the fall, I’ll put these studies “on the shelf” and then finish the book manuscript after I graduate next May (God willing). </p>
<p>So look for the first post on the first fruit of the Spirit, love, in a week. </p>
<p>Grace and peace.</p>
tag:btirwin.svbtle.com,2014:Post/joy-and-sadness2023-01-04T04:55:30-08:002023-01-04T04:55:30-08:00When joy and sadness live together...and why I haven't posted since August<p><a href="https://svbtleusercontent.com/urs2qp5h8HGuhUpCxXg1670xspap.jpg"><img src="https://svbtleusercontent.com/urs2qp5h8HGuhUpCxXg1670xspap_small.jpg" alt="ricardo-gomez-angel-wRkhfsT_rTA-unsplash.jpg"></a><br>
Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@rgaleriacom?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Ricardo Gomez Angel</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/sunbeam?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a></p>
<p>Have you ever had a “first Christmas without [insert the name of a family member or friend who died]?”</p>
<p>When people asked you how you were doing, what did you say to them?</p>
<p>I suppose what you felt and said depended on the person who died and your relationship to her or him. If you felt that your relationship with her or him was good and whole, maybe you felt some contentment and gratitude in your grief. If you felt that the person died before you had a chance to make things right or whole, maybe regret made your grief bitter. </p>
<p>When my dad died about seven months ago, our relationship was complete, full, whole. Neither of us had regrets. We didn’t leave anything unsaid. As sad and traumatic as it felt to go through it, our parting was as good as a parting can be. </p>
<p>But I <em>am</em> sad. <em>Very</em> sad.</p>
<p>At Christmas, my sister-in-law asked about my state of heart and mind. I said: “I’m going to be a little sad for the rest of my life.” </p>
<p>On New Year’s Eve, I told an old friend: “I felt sad through the holidays, but I also felt happy. Christmas was no less merry than in the past, but I felt sadness at the same time. I guess that’s just how it will be now.” </p>
<p>Maybe you know the feeling.</p>
<p>When I found out that Dad was sick and would die, I took a grief class at my church. One of the things we talked about is that our culture tends to treat grief like a problem to solve or a thing to hurry through.</p>
<p>But grief is <em>not</em> a problem. It is <em>not</em> a thing to hurry through.</p>
<p><strong><em>There is nothing wrong with being sad. There is nothing wrong with grief.</em></strong> </p>
<p>Indeed, grief is <em>good</em> because it is a form of <em>gratitude</em>. </p>
<p>Whenever I feel sadness that Dad is gone, it is like a little prayer of thanks for the times when he was here. Grief reminds me to be thankful for Dad. </p>
<p>So I don’t mind being sad. My sadness has a sweetness to it. Being sad does not mean that I cannot be happy, too. I can be both at the same time. Joy and sadness can go well together. Like bacon on a maple doughnut. </p>
<p>So if you are grieving this New Year, may you find yourself close to the Christ who weeps (Gospel of John 11:35). May you find gratitude in your grief. May you find sweetness in your sadness. </p>
<p>Grace and peace.</p>
<p><strong>Now, a note about why I stopped posting to this blog back in August…</strong></p>
<p>One of the most fulfilling and humbling feelings is the one I get when people tell me that something I wrote did some good for them. I am surprised and thankful that this happens as often as it does. Whenever I speak or write, I am trying to announce good news that people need deep in their souls. Nothing is sweeter than finding that the Source of all good news whispered to someone through what I wrote. </p>
<p>The chance to serve you as a channel of good news from God to your soul (whenever we are “lucky” enough for that to happen) is the reason I am sorry that I stopped writing back in August. </p>
<p>I didn’t want to stop, but something amazing happened and I had to take a break from this blog.</p>
<p>Last winter, a generous and kind friend offered to pay my tuition to enroll in the Master of Religious Education program at Rochester University. This came after years of praying that God would make a way for me to finish the theological education I started and stopped 17 years ago. I never dreamed that someone would walk up to me and offer to put me through grad school.</p>
<p>So I accepted the gift without hesitation and stepped up to what must be a clear call from God to submit to this education and formation. </p>
<p>However, to honor God and the gift from my friend, I had to set aside some things to give energy and time to grad school. Since writing theological papers is such a big part of the MRE program, I chose to devote what was once “blog time” to school time. </p>
<p>I also put two of my other favorite activities on hold: Preaching and teaching. </p>
<p>I hope that when I graduate in May 2024, the theological education and personal formation of the MRE program makes my preaching, teaching, and writing so much better for the faith, hope, and love of everyone to whom God sends me.</p>
<p>In the meantime, I will still post here once in a while. The holiday break gave me a few days without school or work, so I had some extra time to write this post for you. You’ll still find new posts here once in a while, but not as often as you once did. </p>
<p>Remember: <em>You don’t need me or what I write.</em> God expresses good news and love to you in a million ways every day. Our problem is never that God is not showing up for us; it’s that we are not paying attention. We do not know how to hear and see. </p>
<p>So, then, as we start 2023, may God give you ears to hear and eyes to see the life and love all around you. If you just make time every day to be thankful, I promise God will speak to you in a way that a thousand blog posts, books, podcasts, sermons, or songs never could. </p>
<p>Grace and peace.</p>
tag:btirwin.svbtle.com,2014:Post/yard-signs2022-08-02T02:34:08-07:002022-08-02T02:34:08-07:00All political yard signs say the same thing<p><a href="https://svbtleusercontent.com/WPyrkTJrehgZZRpfm22860xspap.jpg"><img src="https://svbtleusercontent.com/WPyrkTJrehgZZRpfm22860xspap_small.jpg" alt="michael-carruth-VoYhILXi64o-unsplash (1).jpg"></a><br>
Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@michaelcarruth?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Michael Carruth</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/yard-signs?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a></p>
<p>What is the difference between an LGBTQ+ flag and a “Trump 2024” flag?</p>
<p>Not much. </p>
<p>I figured this out the other day when driving home from work.</p>
<p>Just up the street from my house, two of my neighbors seem to be in a political yard decor arms race. </p>
<p>Every time I pass their houses, one of them seems to have a new political statement piece that wasn’t there the day before. Not to be outdone, the other has one or two new political statement pieces out front the next day.</p>
<p>The neighbor on one side flies a “Trump 2024” flag where–I note–he used to fly Old Glory.</p>
<p>But his neighbor put Old Glory in the closet, too, because he hung the latest LGBTQ+ flag in its place. </p>
<p>Now, it is wrong to assume that someone who waves the banner for the LGBTQ+ cause cannot also wave the banner for Trump and vice versa.</p>
<p>But the political statement pieces multiplying like weeds on each neighbor’s lawn makes it plain that that is not the case here. </p>
<p>On the LGBTQ+ lawn, I see this sign: “You are loved without condition.” </p>
<p>On the Trump lawn, I see this one: “Pray for the unborn.” </p>
<p>On the LGBTQ+ lawn, I see signs for political candidates on the far left.</p>
<p>On the Trump lawn, I see signs for candidates on the far right.</p>
<p>On the LGBTQ+ lawn, I see: “Save our democracy” (meaning “save people like me from people like my next-door neighbor”). </p>
<p>On the Trump lawn, I see: “Save America!” (meaning “save people like me from people like <em>my</em> next-door neighbor”).</p>
<p>This is what I see on my street.</p>
<p>Do you see what I see? </p>
<p>I mean: Do you see that these two neighbors who seem so different are <em>not</em> that much different at all? </p>
<p>The soul of each one of them is crying out for the same thing: <em>The right to exist without receiving shame or threats just for existing as they do.</em> </p>
<p>Their yard decor–whether you see it as leftist or rightist–all makes the same statement: <em>Let me and people like me</em> <strong><em>be</em></strong>. </p>
<p>There is a rule for American politicians and pundits and their disciples: <em>I will do unto you so that you are unable to do unto me.</em> </p>
<p>But this is the rule for the Christ and his disciples: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” (Gospel of Matthew 7:12).</p>
<p>Protect and respect your neighbors’ God-given right to <strong><em>be</em></strong>….left, right, and everything in between. </p>
<p>This is the Way.</p>
<p>Grace and peace.</p>
tag:btirwin.svbtle.com,2014:Post/stargazing-in-the-gutter2022-07-11T10:33:58-07:002022-07-11T10:33:58-07:00Stargazing from the gutter<p><a href="https://svbtleusercontent.com/9t6knMTZhiLiob2mXinGCU0xspap.jpg"><img src="https://svbtleusercontent.com/9t6knMTZhiLiob2mXinGCU0xspap_small.jpg" alt="ryunosuke-kikuno-wMx2XgU8er8-unsplash.jpg"></a><br>
Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@ryunosuke_kikuno?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Ryunosuke Kikuno</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/night-sky-stars?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a></p>
<p><em>We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.</em>–Oscar Wilde, Irish poet (1854 - 1900)</p>
<p>I’m not saying that the gutter is a good place, but I am saying (with Wilde) that you won’t find a more unobstructed view of the stars anywhere else.</p>
<p>One of my all-time favorite lyrics is this one: </p>
<p><em>Sometimes I think of Abraham</em><br>
<em>How one star he saw had been lit for me</em> (<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+15%3A5&version=NRSVUE">See Book of Genesis 15:5</a>). <br>
<em>He was a stranger in this land</em><br>
<em>And I am that no less than he</em><br>
<em>And on this road to righteousness</em><br>
<em>Sometimes the climb can be so steep</em><br>
<em>I may falter in my steps</em><br>
<em>But never beyond your reach</em><br>
–<em><a href="https://youtu.be/e5rVQlvr4AQ?t=117">Sometimes by Step</a></em> by Beaker and Rich Mullins </p>
<p>In a Bible story that almost everyone on Earth knows, God took the ancient hero Abraham outside and told him to look up at the stars in the night sky. He told Abraham that if he kept trusting God with his life and the lives of those in his family and household, God would make Abraham’s descendants as countless and wonderful as the stars in the sky. </p>
<p>We can look back on that story now and know something that Abraham did not know: God meant for <em>all</em> humanity to share Abraham’s faith so that all humanity might shine like stars in the heavens. </p>
<p>And so, even from the gutter, one of the stars I see in the night sky is a star God showed Abraham. It is a star God lit for me. </p>
<p>God lit a star for you, too. </p>
<p>Remember this next time you’re in the gutter. Don’t try to get out; just look up at the stars and trust the God who calls one of them by your name. </p>
<p>Grace and peace.</p>
tag:btirwin.svbtle.com,2014:Post/dad-owned-guns2022-06-17T06:33:52-07:002022-06-17T06:33:52-07:00Dad owned guns (but that is not really what this post is about)<p><a href="https://svbtleusercontent.com/rHDUpHffkrdQDVobhYv2Hc0xspap.jpg"><img src="https://svbtleusercontent.com/rHDUpHffkrdQDVobhYv2Hc0xspap_small.jpg" alt="jay-rembert-xnK_o6OdTew-unsplash.jpg"></a><br>
Photo by Jay Rembert on Unsplash</p>
<p>A week before I sat down to write this, family and friends gathered in Tennessee to celebrate and mourn my dad, Travis Irwin. </p>
<p>The mark of a man who lived well is that even strangers come to his funeral and go home feeling festive–like they went to a party. </p>
<p>Everyone who knew Dad (or got to know him by listening to people at his funeral) knew that he was a Christian pastor and preacher. </p>
<p>A peacemaker.</p>
<p>Dad was compassionate. Forgiving. Friendly. Gentle. Gracious. Hospitable. Kind. Long suffering. Tender-hearted.</p>
<p>Even people who threatened Dad or tried to take advantage of him–and there were more than a few over a 45-year ministry career–found him to be willing to forgive them “seventy times seven.” He saw good in people that people often did not see in themselves. That is why he was willing to do good things for people who did bad things to him.</p>
<p>This is the kind of stuff that people said about Dad at his funeral. </p>
<p>Then one of the eulogists dropped in this line that maybe took some people by surprise: “Travis and I got our carry permits together.”</p>
<p>As in permits to carry concealed weapons. </p>
<p>Dad owned guns and he carried one. </p>
<p>For the record, I disagreed with Dad’s choice to carry a gun. I wasn’t happy with Dad’s choice to have guns in his house. I did not, however, argue that Dad did not have a <em>right</em> to carry a gun or have them in his house. </p>
<p>Also for the record, I have strong doubts about apprentices and students of Jesus Christ making a public display of arming themselves. I know Christians whose devotion to guns and gun culture is idolatry, plain and simple. The ancient church of Christ overcame the world, neither by defending itself with weapons nor empowering itself with politics. Rather, it won over the world one neighbor at a time, through gentleness, meekness, and service. Christians in America make a grave mistake when they think that guns and politics can protect and provide. The Bible makes it clear that when God’s people trust political power and weapons of war for their protection, they become corrupt, poor, sickly, and weak. </p>
<p>I don’t see any reason, however, to believe that Dad’s choice to carry a gun meant that he lacked faith in God or lapsed into gun idolatry. I don’t see any reason to believe that Dad’s choice to carry a gun made him any less of a pastor to his church or a peacemaker in his community.</p>
<p>I say this because guns are not the point of this post at all. </p>
<p>The point of this post is that we need to be careful about what we say and think about people. </p>
<p>To say that “all gun owners are bad” and to imply that all of them are somehow in league with mass murderers and psychopaths misses so many layers in so many people. It often feels good to make a “blanket statement” of condemnation against a whole group of people, but those statements are often far from the truth and not helpful at all. </p>
<p>Christians, to be truly Christian, must conform their behavior, feelings, and thoughts to the behavior, feelings, and thoughts of their Christ–not what they hear and see from politicians, pundits, and social media.</p>
<p>Christians understand that there are not “issues” like guns; only people who are living complex lives in a complex world with other people living their complex lives. Jesus did not call on his apprentices and students to figure out the right side of <em>issues</em>; he called on them to listen and understand, serve and show patience, take each “neighbor” as he or she comes. This is how we attune ourselves to being just and doing justice.</p>
<p>This is one way that we trust our Christ to protect and provide. </p>
<p>We can follow the example of politicians and pundits and make blanket judgments about entire groups of people to whom we apply labels we hear in the media; or we can follow the example of Jesus Christ and make disciples by loving one neighbor at a time.</p>
<p>Grace and peace.</p>
tag:btirwin.svbtle.com,2014:Post/eulogy-for-travis-dewey-irwin-march-9-1950-june-1-20222022-06-12T05:43:22-07:002022-06-12T05:43:22-07:00Eulogy for Travis Dewey Irwin (March 9, 1950 - June 1, 2022)<p><strong>Give honor to whom honor is due (Letter to the Romans 13:7).</strong></p>
<p><em>My dad, Travis Irwin, died on June 1, 2022, after a hard, long slog with cancer. He was 72 years old and just 15 months into his retirement after 45 years ministering to Church of Christ congregations in Ohio and Tennessee. Dad loved God with all his heart, mind, soul, and strength. And he loved his neighbors as he loved himself. On Saturday, June 11, family and friends gathered in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, to celebrate Dad’s life and give him honor for his lifetime of loving so many people that only God could keep count of them all. This is the eulogy I offered.</em></p>
<p><a href="https://svbtleusercontent.com/6k4cS8PSVeeCsUAQUzJxn90xspap.jpg"><img src="https://svbtleusercontent.com/6k4cS8PSVeeCsUAQUzJxn90xspap_small.jpg" alt="IMG_9791 (2).jpg"></a></p>
<p>When Dad asked me to speak at his funeral, he said: “Son, make sure the people at my funeral hear good news–the Gospel.” </p>
<p>What else would you expect from a man who preached at least 3,500 sermons in his lifetime? </p>
<p>I promised Dad I would bring you good news today and I will keep that promise now. </p>
<p>And, since Dad loved a good three-point sermon, this one has three points–three proclamations–of good news. Each one comes from Dad himself. </p>
<p>We may call this the Gospel According to Travis Irwin. </p>
<p>So let’s start with the first proclamation: I have good news!</p>
<p>You can do it. Whatever it is, you can do it. </p>
<p>Most of us know Dad as an evangelist, pastor, or preacher. We know someone who stood up and spoke in front of hundreds of people at a time. </p>
<p>We also know him as someone who held the hands of people who were dying. Or showed up to calm a domestic dispute. Or sat next to someone in the emergency room in the middle of the night. Or talked someone out of taking their own life. Or visited someone in their jail cell. </p>
<p>We know him as someone who dared to try to answer life’s hardest, highest-stake questions from people who were hostile, hurting, or lost. </p>
<p>In other words, we know Dad dared to do things most of us would not dare to do. </p>
<p>And, to many of us, he made it look easy. </p>
<p>But what you need to know is that it wasn’t easy. Dad told me that pastoral and preaching work scared him. Sometimes even terrified him. </p>
<p>He grew up anxious, awkward, and shy. He felt safest when he was alone in his room with his guitar. He couldn’t imagine anything scarier than being a pastor or preacher. </p>
<p>God made him one anyway. </p>
<p>Even then, Dad told me that he felt panic. He said that, on some Sunday mornings when he got to the church building, he found a dark room where he could lay down on the floor and hide. </p>
<p>One time, I asked him: “Dad, how did you do your ministry work if you were so afraid?”</p>
<p>He answered by quoting his favorite Bible verse, the verse he memorized and said to himself almost every day for close to 50 years in ministry: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” </p>
<p>That’s from the Letter to the Philippians 4:13. </p>
<p>Look around this room. We are the fruit of the work Dad did through the Christ who strengthened him. We know that that strength must have been powerful and real because here we are because of all the things Dad did. </p>
<p>So good news! If the Christ who strengthened an anxious, awkward, terrified man to boldly pastor and preach as we knew Dad pastored and preached, then imagine what that Christ can and will do through you when you trust his strength. </p>
<p>That brings me to the second proclamation. </p>
<p>I have good news! You are loved. </p>
<p>How do I know that? Because you know as well as I know that Dad loved you. </p>
<p>Dad loved you. </p>
<p>There is a Bible verse, it’s the Book of Isaiah 49:16, where God says that he cares for his people and loves them so much that he engraves their names on the palms of his hands. </p>
<p>Dad didn’t tattoo your names on his hands, but I can tell you that you were always on his mind. </p>
<p>Let me give you an example. There was not a street in all of Akron, Ohio, Cadiz, Ohio, Ashland, Ohio, Brushy, Tennessee, or Athens, Tennessee, where Dad did not know someone who lived on that street. Growing up, we could not take a five-minute drive to get a gallon of milk without Dad pointing out who lived in what seemed like half the houses along the way. </p>
<p>He’d say something like: “Eh, that’s where Gertie McGillicuddy lives.” </p>
<p>And we would say: “Dad, who is Gertie McGillicuddy?” </p>
<p>And he would tell us about how Gertie McGillicuddy was the great aunt of some back pew person from church and that he took her some groceries or visited her in the hospital once. </p>
<p>If Dad met you once, he never forgot you. He didn’t forget where you lived. Those of us who know him really well know that he didn’t forget what kind of car you drove. To meet you was to care for you…forever. </p>
<p>Because, as I said before, Dad loved you.</p>
<p>To everyone he met, Dad was patient. Dad was kind. Dad was not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. Dad did not insist on his own way. Dad was not irritable. Dad kept no record of wrongs. Dad did not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoiced in the truth. Dad bore all things, believed all things, hoped all things, endured all things. </p>
<p>Dad’s love never ended. Do you need proof? Again, just look around. Can you see the evidence of Dad’s love still at work in us right here and now? Love that outlived Dad’s own body? </p>
<p>If this is the love of a mere man, what must the love of God be? </p>
<p>Good news! You are loved. Loved by Dad. Loved even more by the God whose love Dad received and passed on to you. </p>
<p>That brings me to the third and final proclamation. </p>
<p>I have good news! You will live. </p>
<p>When Dad was dying, my mamaw asked him to send a message from heaven when he got there. </p>
<p>Dad died at 1 o’clock in the morning on June 1. I was there for his last breath. It took about three hours for the funeral home and hospice to do their work. When everyone was gone and I went to bed, it was 4 o’clock in the morning. </p>
<p>Somehow, I woke up less than three hours later. Each morning, one of the first things I do when I wake up is use a Bible app on my phone to do some daily Bible reading. The Bible app I use picks a random verse to show me first thing each morning.</p>
<p>When I woke up on the morning that Dad died–just five or six hours after he took his last breath–I opened my Bible app to do my daily Bible reading. I want you to know that this is the “random” Bible verse the app picked for me to read on the morning Dad died. It’s from the Book of Revelation 21:2-4: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them and be their God; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>Now you may choose to believe that was or was not a message from Dad on the other side, but you have to agree that it would be just like Dad to quote a Bible verse to us. </p>
<p>I have good news today! Dad’s body is in that box, but Dad is not in that box. The Christ who strengthened Travis Irwin is too strong for death. The God who loved Travis Irwin is not the God of the dead, but of the living. The Gospel that Dad lived and loved and practiced and preached cannot be dead, is not dead, will never be dead. The life and love of God that Dad believed and trusted cannot be put in a box and buried in the ground. </p>
<p>I have good news today! Look around. What do you see among these people? Do you see death because I sure don’t! I see life! I see love! I see that Dad is more alive and loving more than ever before–not in that old worn out body in the box, but in this body that is being raised anew right here and now. </p>
<p>I have good news today! The Gospel According to Travis Irwin. God will wipe away every tear from our eyes. Death will be no more; our mourning and crying and pain will be no more. </p>
<p>Let us trust the Christ who strengthened Dad to do all things. </p>
<p>Let us love the way Dad loved us. </p>
<p>Let us live as Dad showed and taught us how to live.</p>
<p>This is not the end, it is merely the end of the beginning. </p>
<p>Praise be to the God of Travis Irwin and his Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.</p>
<p>Grace and peace to you all.</p>