Monthly Archives: June 2026

This is both a belated post about Fathers’ Day as well as a post about sin. I am well acquainted with sin and not only because I’ve seen things after 40+ years of professional ministry. Mostly I’m well acquainted with sin because I myself am a miserable sinner. I could do better every day and yet I don’t.

Last weekend I was thinking about friends of mine for whom Fathers’ Day is rough and not because their beloved fathers have passed away. (Note: many embrace the image of God as Father for the reasons the author Diane Tennis spells out in this book.) So many of my friends and colleagues have had relationships with their fathers that involved cruelty and coldness. They sought the love of their dads only to be ignored if not betrayed. Those dads could have done better but they didn’t.

This is an excellent podcast in which the writer Tom Junod talks about his father who was both a David Niven-esque charmer and an unrepentant adulterer. He was a wonderful father who also brought pain to quite a few people including Junod’s mother.

I was also thinking about a woman named Gudrun Burwitz who adored her own father in spite of his shortcomings. Yes, he was also a womanizer but he also read her stories and wrote her lovely letters and phoned her every day when his work required being away from home. Also her father happened to be the architect of the Holocaust who asked his daughter to call his boss “Uncle Hitler.” After her father died by suicide (although she was certain he’d been murdered) until her own death in 2018, she maintained that he’d been a good father.

Ms. Burwitz’s situation is obviously an extreme one, but I’m cognizant of the fact that all of us fall short of God’s glory whether we are Nazis or unexceptional liars and cheaters. My concern is for those who never acknowledge that they are responsible for the pain of other human beings.

I am a Reformed Christian/follower of Jesus and so – all my life – I’ve been taught that God is God and we are not. It’s not that human beings are imperfect. Of course we are imperfect.

It’s about the fact that in the midst of life’s joys and successes, we could all do better. We all have some weaknesses/mistakes/gravely poor choices to confess. I’m frankly concerned that as autocrats and billionaires (and at least one trillionaire) continue to gain control and more power in this world, there are fewer calls to acknowledge our basic sinfulness.

Can a good father be a bad man? Of course. Can a good mom be a bad woman? Of course.

I remember a church member who was so cruel to his friends. He took advantage of another church leader’s dementia. He used the church to benefit himself. He verbally abused other church people behind closed doors. But his family lauded his integrity and gentleness when he passed away. Their experience had not been the same as the experience of others.

And this is life. It’s rare when there is no one who can offer a kind word about someone’s life (although I’ve done those funerals too.) My hope is that we can become – as they say – the people our dogs think we are. God is gracious. And we can all do better.

“Right hand of God. Right hand of God” Karl-Anthony Towns describing his Knicks teammate OG Anunoby’s game-winning tip into the basket to finalize a 29-point comeback and win for the Knicks in Game Four of the NBA Finals against the San Antonio Spurs

I’m more of a college basketball fan, specifically ACC basketball, and more specifically ACC basketball when all the teams were actually on the Atlantic Coast. But last night’s Game Four of the NBA Finals felt a little bit holy. (I’m so sorry Spurs fans but that game was a spiritual experience for so many people.)

I don’t believe that God cares who wins sporting events, but I do believe that the exhilarating feeling of an unexpected victory or the success of an underdog or the miracle of three point shots from the next county feels like a God Moment. I’ve experienced this personally – my favorite holy sports moment being this one. I was a senior in high school sitting with my brother several rows up under the home basket. To this day, when I watch replays of those last 17 seconds with 8 points down, my heart feels like it’s going to explode again. This is surely what it feels like to experience the Holy Spirit, albeit trivial by comparison.

This is the feeling I felt when I prayed in a courtroom for an innocent defendant who was found not guilty. This is the feeling that I felt when I witnessed immigrants graduating from a church-sponsored computer training program knowing that they’d found employment with dental benefits. This is the feeling I felt when I prayed for my children only to find – with time – that God provided something better than I had imagined for them.

Prayer is not magic. God’s hands are not on basketballs or golf clubs or tennis rackets (or steering wheels or gun triggers.) And yet God is with us through life’s everyday and extraordinary moments. God weeps when we weep and rejoices when we rejoice.

God was with every Spurs fan whose heart broke last night. And God was with everybody who – like me and HH – screamed with joyful disbelief with 1.2 seconds left on the clock. God is with us. That doesn’t mean that God finds us parking spaces or keeps us from making bad choices. But God is surely with us in the aftermath of whatever happens – whether we acknowledge it or not.

Go Knicks.

I have a friend – a tad older than I am – who intentionally never mentions things like the meds she’s on, the joints she’s replaced, or the wrinkles she’s noticed. She never mentions her age in conversation. She never makes “senior moment” jokes. This is her choice and I respect her for it.

I am now 70 years old, retired, on a couple of meds, and have two new knees. I have no problem with sharing this information and I consider it all a joy, frankly. I’m privileged to have lived this long – longer than either of my parents or a couple of my closest friends, all of whom died of cancer. I have not died of cancer – yet. Maybe I never will.

Maybe I’ll get bonked on the head by a falling gargoyle or accidently step into a manhole. I’ve known it to happen.

HH and I moved two weeks ago today to Northern Virginia and now we live in what could be our last move, depending on how often we break our respective hips.

I think of myself as a “young retiree” and yet, as I was walking home from Harris-Teeter (two blocks away) with my cute cart, three different people offered to help me. I wasn’t struggling. I wasn’t trying to lug that cart up a flight of stairs. I was just walking and – apparently – I looked like I needed assistance.

At first, I was annoyed. Do I look like I need help? And then I reconsidered.

Who doesn’t need assistance? All of us spend our days in some form of Assisted Living.

From the rehab patient who needs help getting dressed to the lady with a folding grocery cart to the child who can’t reach the library book, we not only need other humans but it’s really good for our souls to need each other. When we acknowledge that we cannot thrive alone, we are telling the truth about ourselves.

Scripture says “If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.” (1 John 1:8)

I would add: “If we say that we don’t need other people, we deceive ourselves …”

Welcoming assistance from strangers – even if we don’t think we need it – builds community. Instead of being annoyed, I’m trying to feel grateful that someone even noticed me. So – thank you Smoker holding the George Will book, Woman who looked older than I do, and Young Mom with the wagon and a puppy. Thanks for offering to help the lady with the folding shopping cart.

But here’s my pitch: what if we were more intentional about noticing people? I’m not suggesting we try to Super Hero ourselves into a situation that someone else has under control. I’m not saying we should be creepy. I just saying that we could notice each other out there with intention and appreciation. Hold a door open. Carry a bag. Say ‘hi.’

Everybody needs a little help.