I titled this post “a Christmas letter in July” because the first part will read like the letters my parents send out with their Christmas cards every year.

Yes, my parents still send out a “Christmas letter” (and it’s delightful).

If you’re too young to know what I’m talking about, a Christmas letter is what people used to send before email and social media. A family’s annual Christmas letter reports all the big news from the year before.

The big news in this “Christmas letter in July” from the Irwin family is that my dad’s cancer is back being gone for five years. The difference is that this time, it is all over his body and not just in one place. The doctors tell us that the best they can do is make Dad comfortable and try to prolong his life using treatments like chemotherapy and immunotherapy. These treatments could keep him alive for a few months or a few years.

I feel bad...

What, to the white man, is Juneteenth?

Before I try to answer that, let’s look at a little history.

Frederick Douglass (1817 - 1895) was a black former slave who became a leader in the movement to abolish slavery in the United States.

In 1852, he spoke to a mostly-white audience that gathered to celebrate Independence Day. He gave what history calls the What, to the Slave, is the Fourth of July speech.

Douglass asked: Why should black people (in the year 1852) celebrate the Fourth of July when the laws of the land denied them “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness”?

Not many years later, black Americans finally had a reason to hope that the ideals of the Declaration of Independence could apply to them, too.

On January 1, 1863, President Abraham Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation became the law of the land. The proclamation freed all slaves in rebel states. As U.S...

I have “Benadryl brain” this morning.

Last midnight, allergies had me sneezing and snorting (and not sleeping).

I got up to look for relief and all I could find in the house was Benadryl.

I took it. I knew that it would put me to sleep and stop the allergy symptoms.

I also knew that the drug’s effects would wear off in the night and that I would awake sneezing and snorting again. But at midnight, I decided to get some sleep and deal with morning in the morning.

It’s morning. My allergies were up with the sun.

The effects of the Benadryl wore off, but the side effects wear on.

When I was a kid in the 1980s, my dad had an old Pontiac that gave us more reasons to pray than almost anything else in our lives. In the cold northern Ohio weather, depending on that old Pontiac to get us to school in the morning was like playing “tardy bell Russian roulette.”

On February mornings...

I’m writing on fumes this morning.

It’s 6 a.m. on the day after my son’s last day of second grade.

I was his teacher here at home all year. Oh, how I cherish my time with him while he is young! But, oh, how I counted down the days until this school year ended!

It had to end for the sake of his education and our relationship!

I put most of my “thinking and writing energy” this week into an important and urgent fundraising appeal for the nonprofit I lead. Like all small nonprofits that live hand to mouth, we need money and we need it now. I did my best to write an appeal that would get people who need their own money now to give some of it to us.

I also wrote a column for our church bulletin.

I’m writing on fumes this morning.

Why am I telling you this?

It’s a trick. A writer who has “writer’s block” knows he has to start writing to clear the blockage.

Just start writing.

...

Memorial Day was big in Ashland, Ohio, the small town where I grew up.

It seemed like everyone in town came out to crowd Main Street for the annual Memorial Day parade.

The stars of that parade were the military veterans who passed by.

Whenever they marched by, a hush came over the crowd. Then, loud cheers. The parade made its way to the town cemetery, where a ceremony took place: Prayers, the reading of names of Ashland’s own military martyrs, Taps, and a 21-gun salute.

Memorial Day is not the same since I moved away from Ashland 20 years ago. Back home, they know how to do the “memorial” part right.

I wish all of America would keep Memorial Day the way we did back in Ashland, but I would like to add one thing.

Let’s honor and remember our military martyrs, but let’s honor and remember another group of American martyrs along with them.

Let me tell you the story of Viola...

I officiated a wedding last weekend.

The groom is an old friend of mine. Fifteen years ago, his mom and stepdad let me crash at their house after I crashed and burned out as a church minister and seminarian.

After I imploded my life in just under a year of going to grad school and working with a small church in Texas, I snuck back into Michigan under cover of darkness one wintry February night.

I was homeless, jobless, and penniless.

Oh, and I’d burned bridges back here in Michigan.

About the only one left to me was the one that led to the basement of a mixed family home in suburban Detroit.

That’s where I met the groom. He was only 11 when I came to stay with his family. He didn’t know that the 30-year old man now living in his basement was a church-splitting, friend-betraying, money-wasting, seminary-failing talker who finally couldn’t talk his way out of the mess he made...

That’s a promise straight from the mouth of the Christ (Gospel of John 16:33.

Some mornings when I scan the headlines, I feel like my body is being stretched on a rack. I can barely live through a day when I don’t find out that one of my “good guys” did something very bad. I can barely make it through one 24-hour news cycle without someone proving unfit for the hope I put in him. What starts out black and white gets stirred to gray.

And I am troubled. So, so troubled.

But the Christ promised that would happen. I wonder why we don’t talk about that promise more often. It’s right there in red letters in the Bible:

“In this world you will have trouble…”

So what are we to do?

Fight like hell?

Move far up into the back country, to some place off the grid?

Stick our heads in the sand?

Vote for the new lords and saviors the political parties thrust on us?

None of the above.

We...

Last Sunday, I woke up with a toothache.

This really is news because I’m 45 years old and I never had a toothache in all that time. The closest I ever came to what I felt on Sunday was getting my braces tightened once a month back in junior high.

On Sunday, when I first noticed the toothache, I shrugged it off. I figured I would wake up on Monday morning and it would be gone. I didn’t even bring it up to anyone in my family.

But the toothache was not gone when I woke up on Monday. It was worse.

It was so much worse that I went to the dentist that day. She took an X-ray and found damage to the tooth’s ligament and nerve.

“What did you do to this tooth?” asked the dentist.

“Nothing that I know about,” I said. “I woke up this way on Sunday morning. Could I have done this in my sleep?”

She prescribed antibiotics, but said I was likely to need a root canal anyway.

I started taking...

I was in love. Bad.

It was like a fever that kept me down all day and up all night.

I liked Kerrie from afar for a long time before I got to know her.

From afar, she was all I ever imagined a woman could be. Which is why I thought liking her from afar was all I would ever get to do.

But then we became friends. She liked me back! She wanted to spend time with me! Oh, my God! Could this actually happen? Could she be The One?

Yes, yes! I was sure of it. She was perfect. She liked me. She had to be The One, right?

And so for my (first) senior year of college, Kerrie became The Meaning of Life. Winning her became my passion and purpose. What a wonderful world it would be…if we could be together. Oh, Jesus! Please! Please!

I was afraid to tell her how I really felt about her. I didn’t think I could go on living if she told me she didn’t feel the same way. So I bided my time and looked...

It is right for us to care about the health and wellbeing of our society now.

But for those who believe and follow the Way of the Christ, how and why we care about society are to be different.

When society is sick, it is typical for people to look for cures in economics or politics. They argue about whether capitalism or socialism will make things better. They fight about whether conservatism or liberalism will get it done.

But the church of Christ follows a different way altogether, the Way of the Christ. The Way of the Christ is over-the-top service and submission, radical inclusion, and reckless sharing in a community where everyone has a place and everyone is truly equal.

The church of Christ is not an institution within society; it is an alternative to society itself. It is an alternative economy, an alternative polity, where people go to extremes to practice the love...