Discovering the Holy Among the Profane in Fifteen Minutes

I grew up in a home that severely limited my creative outlet of language…I wasn’t allowed to curse, nor was I given the freedom to vent with words that hinted of the real four-letter curse words, the baby curse words like heck and shoot and darn. These were deemed unpolished and tainted by the very notion of adjacency, they contained at least two of the evil four letters. I don’t remember many lectures from Mom who was the language gatekeeper, but there was instilled in our vocabulary a governor which filtered the borderline words readily when Mom was in the … Continue reading Discovering the Holy Among the Profane in Fifteen Minutes

My Heart Was Singing My Legs Were Praying

Tyler Davis on a recent trip to Uganda, praying with his legs. I was brought to faith in a church that valued knowledge and the intellect. Within the confines of my birth family, I watched my parents enflesh this knowledge into action. And certainly it affected me…clean your room, take out the trash, mow the lawn, study hard, do good, care about folks and treat them with respect and love. We certainly took action as a church, but I confess I learned more Law at the church house and the “words to build a life on” in the midst of … Continue reading My Heart Was Singing My Legs Were Praying

Caddying for the Younger Generation

Francis Chan put hands over his face and agonized about whether to speak the unspeakable to a traditionally proud and spiritually cloistered group that appeared from his stage perch decidedly gray, liver-spotted hands enshrouding the candle lit flame that once was a raging bonfire. He was speaking to me and to my elders and leaders in Churches of Christ. His message was the empowerment of younger people, the enabling of their talents, the unleashing of their spirit in the Church and having the wisdom and discernment to know when to get out of the way and let God’s will and … Continue reading Caddying for the Younger Generation

No Man is an Island

I wandered over to the headstone of my Grandpa Jesse Davis after Aunt Becky’s graveside service and while standing to the side of his bones (Grandma Mildred told me to not step on folks in the graveyard…it’s not respectful), I pondered his death. Born in 1901…died 1969. I commented to my contemporary fifty-something cousins, I have fifteen years left. Or forty-six years if my life-span tracks closer to Grandma Davis lying beside Jesse. Contingent upon the whirling mix of genetic longevity piped down to me through the maternal tree trunk along with how much ice cream I eat. That sober … Continue reading No Man is an Island

Abraham, Martin & Me

It was the first time I ever prayed with my face touching the earth…and the first time I have ever had a prayer interrupted by a President of the United States. I lay prostrate on the green grass surrounding the Washington Monument, praying with ten other men in a tight circle, and a half million men all along the Washington Mall. It was October 4, 1997, a Saturday afternoon, and the Presidential helicopter with William Jefferson Clinton aboard, had just powered over our prayer huddle flying barely higher than the Washington Monument peak as if by governmental mandate. As dusk … Continue reading Abraham, Martin & Me

Newtown

December 24, 2012 On December 14th, I wept for twenty six souls in Newtown, Connecticut. The despair I felt was a sense that we’ve lost control as a nation, abandoned universal morality for individual amorality. Have faith, hope and love, ancient words from ancient texts, devolved into hollow shells of confectionary meaninglessness? And then I remember that even those who trust in the ancient words of holy scripture find a sense of hopelessness embedded in the words of Ecclesiastes. “I saw the tears of the oppressed-and they have no comforter; power was on the side of their oppressors-and they have … Continue reading Newtown