It’s approximately 8:00PM on an arid Thursday evening. It’s been a long day, and it’s just getting started… The week began unbelievably good – people lining the streets shouting my name, making proclamations that they will soon enough renounce. So certain of who I am on Sunday, but now, not so much. My mind rapidly plays back 33 years of life in this place. Some things I have no memory of but I’ve heard the stories a thousand times. My inauspicious birth, nothing but farm animals to greet me. A megalomaniac despot killing thousands of baby boys, trying to get to me – imagine wrapping your childhood brain around that without some survivors guilt. Or try explaining to your friends that your dad is not really your dad and your mom is a virgin, but it’s all good because some angels told them it would all work out – sure, that will play well.  I’ve had a different kind of life, but I’ve known the deal forever, have always felt it in my bones… deep in my soul. But being different comes at a high price and the currency that’s used is brutality. I can’t help what I think, how I feel, how I connect with God, how I read people – I just do, it’s like asking me how I breathe… just in and out. Don’t think I can’t hear the whispers, see the sideways looks. Don’t let yourself believe that I don’t feel the loneliness of isolation that comes from your fear and distrust of me. I remember how I tried to fit in – working in pop’s workshop, attempting to be one of the boys, but knowing I’d never fit the mold. Somewhere along the way it clicked for me that in spite of my oddities, I have purpose, a transcendent calling that beckons me ever onward to the next thing, the next place, the next person. Yet here I am… in this place, this garden. My people, my confidantes who say they have my back, are physically with me but have checked out emotionally. I get it – I’m exhausted too, but while they sleep, my gut is torn open and I’m praying, and I’m absolutely begging God to intervene. I know what’s coming, it’s been spiraling out of control for a while. The back alley deals have been cut and the wheels of injustice are now in motion. My heart is pounding out of my chest and I place my right hand over the cadence to try and restore its natural rhythm. My left hand reaches to wipe the dripping sweat from my head and I’m jarred by the sight of blood. Reason wages war with panic, doubt grasps hold of certainty by the throat. God, if there’s any way out of this… please, please…please…there must be another way – but if there’s not… Oh My God…then so be it.

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During Passion Week my thoughts typically drift to two tableaus: The first being the garden scene that I tried to depict above, from my mortal perspective; and the second being the most cosmic yet universal death cry of all humanity – My God, why have you abandoned me? Within these horrific moments of unimaginable distress, I take comfort in the total humanity of Jesus. For why would I care to follow a man who only lived in the divine world of certainty? The profound beauty and power of these moments is in the utter vulnerability, the crashing doubt and confusion, the excruciating pain and suffering – yet finding the strength and the will to fulfill  the purpose of his life. This is a most perplexing and delightful mystery.

Western Christianity has fashioned a new god in it’s own likeness and it’s name is Certainty. I agree with theologian and philosopher Paul Tillich, who said “the opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty”. In many circles, there is no longer room for questions, for debate, for mystery. We parce the Greek and Hebrew, while we study and repeat our favorite teachers and mentors, until certainty reigns supreme. There can be no common fellowship because you’re either with us or against us, you’re in or you’re out. Politics as well as cultural and social norms have had clear lines of delineation drawn. Those who dare to have an opinion or convictions that differ from their partisan tribe are quickly and viciously reminded of their place. Social media has helped shape the narrative of certainty by shaming non-conformity. There is a certain way to raise your children, a certain weight you should be, a certain way to dress, a certain way to vote – and sadly our shame turns us into acquiescent followers who soon espouse the same doctrine of certainty that once repulsed us.

The story of humanity as told through our sacred scriptures is of living by faith, yes – but by no means, certainty. The heroes of our faith were renowned for their courage and passion to follow their heart regardless of their doubt and questions. There is an ever present awareness or raising of consciousness that propels them through life’s journey.

The Apostle Peter is a great example of the struggle between faith and certainty. Peter was certain he would not deny his Lord, but he did. Peter was certain that Jesus would not forgive him for his denial, but Jesus embraced and empowered him. Peter was certain that he would never eat anything unclean to Jews or enter the house of a gentile, yet he was told in a vision to eat freely and to immediately visit a gentile centurion. While in Antioch, Peter was certain that he was treating gentiles appropriately but the Apostle Paul called him out publicly as a hypocrite.

Certainty has been a cloak that fits me well. Yet as I have aged in maturity and life experiences, there are ideas and ways of thinking that no longer hold me captive. I am secure in my faith and equally secure in my questions. Marrying Jackie changed my entire social and emotional construct. The birth of my daughters changed my self-centeredness. Travelling, and having diverse friendships changed my view of our interconnectedness. Becoming a grandfather turned my cynicism into renewed hope for mankind.

The Passion is a story for us and about us. It’s a drama of intrigue, struggle, pain, betrayal, fear, doubt and triumph. And though we tell ourselves that we understand the redemptive story, there will always be the “but why?”. So I choose to run toward the mystery within the question rather than the certainty masquerading as the answer.

Today has been designated as International Women’s Day, to celebrate the social, economic, cultural and political achievement of women.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been surrounded by strong, independent minded, strong willed, determined, compassionate, and loving women.
My grandmothers were pioneers who raised large families through wars and the Great Depression. My mom was one of six sisters who were part of the first generation of ladies who not only kept the household running but went into the offices, schools, and factories to provide a second income, and establish their own identity as true contributors to the great society.
It is no surprise then, that I was attracted to and fell in love with a woman who was not only beautiful in countenance but had an inner strength and resiliency that only comes from being an overcomer.
It’s appropriate that yesterday’s clean MRI at the Duke Cancer Center, validated that Jackie has been cancer free for 5 years. She is the epitome of a #survivor.
I am the father of two gifted and inspiring daughters who challenge and amaze me – and now a grandfather to a little girl who has discovered a corner of my heart that I was not aware existed.
Some of my best times and deepest conversations have been with female friends, who are able to share insights into their world that continue to enlighten me.
I work in an office with incredibly gifted women who take a back seat to no one in their abilities and creativity. Most of my clients are women, who are the best and brightest that corporate America has to offer.
I go to the gym and am surrounded by accomplished women who are fit and strong and have taken charge of their mind and bodies.
And I love Oprah, so there’s that… So today I proudly stand not only with the women in my daily life, but women of the world who fight the good fight for a voice that is heard, for equality in every institution, for respect and dignity that is due them. As a man, I reject the notion that my masculinity is diminished by recognizing the strength of the sacred feminine.