The Tebow dilemma

“1 Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.

² “So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. ³ But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, ⁴ so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.

⁵ “And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. ⁶ But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. ⁷ And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. ⁸ Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.

Matthew 6:1-8

I have to admit, that verse still convicts me. It is as simple as it is conflicting.

As Christians, aren’t we supposed to be the “salt and light” of the world? We’re here on this Earth to win lost souls to Christ, right? In reading that, I’m reminded that we’re supposed to tell others about Jesus without drawing attention to ourselves. It sounds simple enough but yet so many times we get it wrong.

When I was a teenager, this passage escaped me. I tried to be über Christian. I wore WWJD (What Would Jesus Do) bracelets and Christian-themed socks during our high school sporting events. I interjected God into routine discussions. I told people I was “praying for them” and that “I missed them in church last Sunday.” That’s all well and fine if I meant it but if I’m really honest with myself I wasn’t very genuine about it. Truthfully, I just wanted to sound more like a Christian. I wanted to play the role. I wanted to be the hero of my life. I was, in short, just immature.

I was projecting an aura of “Look at me — I don’t drink or smoke and I can quote scripture. See how Christian I am.”

Instead of über Christian, at best I was a bracelet Christian, or a t-shirt Christian. At worst I was a heretic.

I knew God. The problem was instead of engaging the relational dynamic of my walk and strengthening that, I was busy flaunting Jesus like a new pair of shoes. I doubt my method gave God much of a vehicle to win lost souls. In fact, I worry it did the opposite.

So that brings me to Tim Tebow. Is he flaunting Jesus like a new pair of shoes when he so openly lives out his faith each Sunday in the NFL? Is he trying to draw attention to himself when he kneels to pray after a touchdown?

The answer: none of us really know. And it isn’t our place to judge him. Only he really knows. I actually think he’s just a little goofy that way. I think if you were in his home you’d probably find him “Tebowing” in his kitchen. I think that’s just him. I don’t think he’s acting or trying to draw attention to himself. I think the guy really believes this is his outlet to witness to millions.

But I could be wrong. My intent with this is not so much to discuss Tebow’s method but to evaluate the intense response it has elicited.

You can’t tun on ESPN for more than an hour without seeing a Tebow highlight or a comment about his faith.

He has been ridiculed by some and worshipped by others.

The response reminds me of the dilemma the Corinthian Church found themselves in hundreds of years ago. They were growing but they were at this point where they were struggling with trying to appeal to the masses while also being biblically sound. They wanted to be hip. And let’s be honest the Gospel certainly isn’t hip. It’s dangerous. It’s not an easy story.

 “The message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written” –

1 Corinthians 1:18

Their leadership was torn — do they grow the church by being more relevant to the lost?

They were struggling with the fact that the story of Jesus wasn’t always an easy one to tell. They were worried that people would look at them like they were strange.

In modern day terms, they were afraid of being ostracized by the Bill Mahrs of the world like Tim Tebow has been.

As believers we can certainly take a lesson from Jesus and humbly love others and value others above ourselves. That expression of our faith is endearing and will allow us to be relevant to the societies in which we live.

But people will still look at us funny.

Most of us don’t want to hear that God is sinless because we don’t want to stop sinning. Most of us don’t want to hear that God loves others because we’re wired to love ourselves first. It’s in our nature to resist that truth.

Pastor and Author Mark Driscoll once put it this way:

“Imagine if the story of Christianity was translated into our modern day, right? Somebody knocks on your door. (Knocking) “Yes, hello.” “Hello – I’m here to tell you about God.” “Oh, well, thank you. Tell me about God.” “Well, God was born in (a small town) to a 16-year-old virgin from High School.

And the virgin girl was camping, and she gave birth to God in a tent. And he never really made it to college; never travelled to a big city, never wrote a book, because he was really busy working at a Jiffy Lube.” You’d be like, “God was working at a Jiffy Lube?” “Oh yeah – he could get rims on and off like nobody. He was amazing. And then he started doing miracles. He walked across Lake Washington. He took a Dick’s hamburger and fries and he fed a whole Seahawks game.”

And then yeah, yeah, this other guy was dead and he brought him back. You know, it was cool. Kurt Cobain, and he brought him back – it was really cool. And then he died – they electrocuted him in a chair in Texas because that’s the only place they’ll do that. They put him in an electric chair and killed him, and three days later he came back and he’s God. Do you wanna join?” Some would be like, “I smoke a lot of weed, and that still doesn’t make any sense to me. That sounds crazy. Here you need some – you need help.”

It sounds crazy, right? I mean but that’s exactly what we believe. That’s exactly what I believe. And I’m telling you and I’m thinking, “They’re gonna think I’m nuts.” And that’s what happens, that the truth is not what any of us would have expected. And God comes in this unexpected way, does unexpected things, and just shocks us all by being totally different than what we would’ve anticipated … I mean we love Jesus, but people are gonna think we’re crazy.”

In short, the Gospel is not convenient. It’s not easy on the eyes. But it is the truth and that truth can sometimes be confusing to those who don’t believe.

I don’t think we should shy away from giving God credit for things that only He can do in our life simply because it “sounds funny” and people might look at us odd. That’s a given. We are required to give Him all the credit because apart from Him we are nothing.

On the other hand, we have to be careful that we don’t use our Faith as a wedge. God shouldn’t be a trump card that we wield to draw attention to — or away from — ourselves. Too often the Western Church has fallen into that trap of being the “salt and light” by resembling more of an exclusive fraternity that makes fun of others who aren’t like them. It is steeped in traditions that can’t even be found in the Bible, many that were just made up along the way.

That’s my challenge every day as I try to sincerely honor God with my life.

I’m sure it is with Tim Tebow as well.

Day Five: work complete

Our team was able to complete our original goal of two homes … and then some.
After completing our two homes two days early, we spent today dedicating the house to the families and then we moved up the road to do some repair work on other homes in a nearby village.
I’m continually overwhelmed with emotion as I watch these men — some as young as 10 — give so much time to build homes for nothing more than a free lunch. Not only that, but they all sit patiently and wait. They don’t crowd. They don’t beg. They work, then sit and wait. And when the food is given, they are quick to say thanks. It may be just a peanut butter sandwich for us, but for them it’s a blessing of another meal.
As I type, I heard a Baptist Global Response staffer tell a local pastor that the BGR’s mission here has built more than 1,700 homes in the village of Damien, which was once part of “tent city.”
That’s an amazing number. But I can only imagine what the impact the experience for the missionaries who have served has meant to their communities.

Day four: working fast

My post will be limited to mainly photos today due to time — and a little heat exhaustion.
I do want to pass along that we are almost done with both houses. We will actually be finishing that project this morning. From there, we will spend our final two days on roofing two other houses. I’ll pass along some other notes tonight. Until then here are a few photos.

Day three: a long bus ride

I sat in the back today on the way back to the compound.
I faced the rear window of the old school bus that takes us to and from the village where we’re building two homes here on the outskirts if Port Au Prince, Haiti. During that ride, we also drop off the Haitian men who are our bosses — most volunteers — close to where they live. It was during that time that I was struck by the realization that most of these guys laboring in the hot sun (think Mississippi in July) don’t have homes themselves. I watched a man get off the bus to be greeted by his two small children who had just been rummaging through the trash on the side of the road. The small girls, probably 7 and 5 years old, wore broad smiles as they hugged their dad, who was covered in sweat and dried mortar.
I remembered him telling me as we mixed concrete how he lived in a tent. No electricity for a fan, much less an air conditioning. This slight man was dressed in women’s Jordache jeans with zippers at the bottom. Two inches too short, they exposed his sock less feet in two different brand tennis shoes. As he exited the bus today, he carried the wire faceplate of an old General Eletric fan — his own personal tool he uses to sift out the rocks for the sand of the mortar at the job site — and a rusty trowel.
This man who has nothing wakes up at 6 a.m. every day and labors in the sun for 8 hours to build a homes, something he himself does not have. His pay: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and clean water for the day. And maybe, if he’s lucky, some hand-me-downs from the missionaries who work alongside him. He does it because he loves God, he loves people because of that love for God and he wants to do everything he can to help them in any way he can.
I don’t tell you that to make you feel sorry for him. I tell you that to illustrate how profoundly repentant I felt at that very moment for how I live. I felt repentant for the things I deem important in my life and the opportunities I miss every day because of it.
I tell you that because it’s a scene I hope sticks with me for life as a constant reminder of how little I’m actually doing for people in my community compared to that man.

Day two: the work begins

I’m continually amazed at how much happiness the Haitian people can draw from nothing. Scratch that — less than nothing.
Let me be specific: how does a 7-year-old smile when her feet are scabbed over from walking for days with no shoes and her main source of food is sugar cane?
This girl in the photo at the bottom of the blog shows you how.

No Hannah Montana. No iPod. No ice cream. Just a stranger talking to her … in a language where she could only understand my name. But there she sat on a rusty chair in the shade of a blue tarp with a broad smile.
Today, aside from visiting with locals in the village, we made great progress on the two cinder-block, 2-room homes we’re helping build. Men from the village, all volunteers, are our bosses and job foreman. Our jobs for the day consisted of carrying block, mixing mortar, and nailing rebar into the buildings.
We worked from 7 a.m.-3 p.m. and successfully completed about four blocks high on both homes. Our role today was to serve those foremen in any way we could … all with limited communication. At one point I carried blocks in a wheel barrel down to another team. On the way back, a few kids hopped in for a ride and sang as I pushed. That dichotomy pretty much sums the day.
It was a great first day of work here in Haiti. Tomorrow our goal is to finish the block and, hopefully, start the roof.

Day One: words can’t describe

Today we saw things the most descriptive writing couldn’t begin to explain. My own eyes had a hard time convincing my head it was real. So how can words convince you.
And how do you describe the constant stench of trash burning in the streets?
Today we saw a woman dying on the side of the road — naked and covered in dust, her dark skin almost covered in a chalky white. She was mentally ill, the locals told us. There’s no one here to care for a needy child, much less a woman with psychosis. So there she sat on the side of the mountain. Left to die. There’s no one to call for help; the need is too great here. And regardless, there really is no one to call.
We gave her water, food and clothes and were forced to drive away with only the haunting memories of her and the work that awaits us in the coming days.
A 50-minute ride later — where potholes were more plentiful than good stretches of gravel — we were transformed from hell on earth to a vacated tropical paradise.
Named the Obama Beach Hotel, we saw a part of Haiti that few do anymore — the crystal clear Caribbean waters just beyond the exotic trees. The now-vacated resort, complete with barbwire around the perimeter, was a far cry from the destruction we had just seen — and will continue to see in the coming days as we work to build houses.
We are now back at our compound in downtown Port Au Prince.
Tomorrow, the real work begins to help rebuild a village … and share the love of God.

Made it to Haiti

Our group has made it the compound here in Port Au Prince, Haiti. It got a little unnerving yesterday as the landing gear on our flight into Haiti failed and we had to have an emergency landing. But all is well and even though darkness had fallen on downtown and streetside dumpster fires provided the bulk of our light, the driver with Baptist Global Response got us to our compound.
The guards and Haitians inside the compound have been great and the BGR staffers are extremely organized.
We are joined in the compound by a group from Georgia. My posts may be short until we have more time.

Here is the compound:

Haiti trip: Day One, departure

We have officially begun our trip to Port Au Prince, Haiti for a mission trip to build houses … and spirits. We are departing from Miami in a few hours. I’m part of a group from First Baptist Church of Meridian headed to volunteer for Baptist Global Response.
Once there, we’ll have a short ride in the back of a truck, also known as a “tap tap”, to our compound. Depending on the availability of wireless, I’ll attempt to blog and include photos.
Until then, it’s time to kill some time in the airport for a few hours.

Remembering a giant

It is often said that to some, writing is as second nature as breathing.

I have always found that to be true in my life. It’s therapeutic. It’s natural. It’s usually free flowing. I typically have a lot to say.

But there are times when my pen is suffocated.

There are times when words don’t come with ease, if at all. Such was the situation I found myself in recently.

It began three weeks ago today. I was driving down a familiar interstate lined with those comforting Mississippi pine trees with a thousand emotions swimming through my mind. I had just left the Ridgeland home of Buddy Bynum, who was nearing the end of his battle with pancreatic cancer.

We sat and talked for nearly two hours. We reminisced. We laughed. We reflected on life.

Buddy was, well, typical Buddy — brilliant, witty and well-spoken.

You could ask him anything and he had an answer — and it was usually eloquent, perceptive and profound. There was always impact to what he had to say.

It’s not just that he chose his words carefully; his mind crafted things in an instant the way most scholars hope to convey a complex thesis in lengthy book chapters.

His strength was words — and he was purposeful with how he used them.

That day at his home I took the position I typically took with Buddy, who hired me as a cub reporter at The Meridian Star in 2000: I listened.

I was a sponge looking to soak up as much of him as I could.

As we talked, my mind drifted back to the first time I sat in his office. At the time I was an impressionable young man in awe. Before me sat an editor — dignified and wise — who had once shared time in the Oval Office with Ronald Reagan as a young staffer for then Congressman Trent Lott.

Here was a man who, with a few strokes of the keyboard in front of him, could help shape thoughts, persuade decision-makers and actuate change in East Mississippi. Here was someone who men like Haley Barbour called on for sound advice on difficult decisions.

Years later I would come to know him as a man who not only had admirable professional traits, but also a man with a warm heart and a loving spirit. He would become someone I loved like family. As a reporter, he would often make me feel like my stories about City Hall or the Lauderdale County Board of Supervisors were somehow as important as the historical work that Woodward and Bernstein did at The Washington Post.

The longer I knew him the more I wanted to know. He had an endearing quality that was unmatched.

As time wore on in our conversation three weeks ago, my mind wandered back to the reality of his condition. As the realization set in I felt paralyzed. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to act. I was too afraid to know more about his condition. And Buddy was too strong to let me see how weak he truly felt.

In that moment he began to discuss the fruits of his life. He talked about his philosophies. He pontificated about the future of an industry he lured me into 12 years earlier.

Near the end of our conversation he talked about leaving his mark. He talked about his hope that he’d impacted others with his life.

The more he talked, the more I felt like that same awestruck youngman who sat across from him 12 years earlier in a job interview.

I felt frozen, unable to verbalize how much he meant to me, both personally and professionally. So as I drove down the interstate towards Meridian that afternoon, I vowed to write something for Buddy.

I came to my office, pulled out a notecard with an old Meridian Star logo and placed it on my desk.

For days it sat there. I couldn’t write. I avoided it.

I couldn’t write because doing so was too painful. I couldn’t write about a man who I regarded second only to my father and grandfather.

How do you find the right words to write about a hero — especially one who’s dying of cancer? How do you put into words what someone means to you — especially when that someone is such a wordsmith?

When I got the news Saturday of his death, the notecard was still mostly blank. Regret set in.

I had been at a loss for the right words to say and had failed to send anything at all.

So today as many prepare to say goodbye to a man who impacted so many, I pray the few words I did manage to write on that card are truths Buddy knew in his heart when he died.

“Buddy, you have always been — and always will be — a giant in my eyes. Every day as I sit in this old chair of yours behind the same desk you once penned your profound editorials, I pray that I can always do you some sort of justice. And above all, I hope I can make you proud.”

Buddy Bynum, left, and Fredie Carmichael pose with awards from the Mississippi Press Association in 2004.

Local storage wars

I only watch about two hours of television a week. But when I do, I watch A&E’s reality series, “Storage Wars.” The show features a group of West Coast businessmen who make money by bidding on storage units in auctions. They turn around and sell the items for a profit. It’s a great show. The men are able to find all types of hidden treasures left behind by former renters who abandoned their “stuff” — or at least quit paying for the rent.
One day while perusing the Classified section of The Star — one of my favorite things to do on the weekend — I saw a listing for a local storage auction. In fact, there were several auctions listed. I decided I had to go see if the local auctions were anything like the popular television show.
I called up a buddy to go with me. He had never seen the show, so I lured him with a breakfast of tomato gravy biscuits at the Queen City Truck Stop. After we ate, we headed for the auction at 9 this morning.
I will be writing about what we found — and what it was like — in next weekend’s edition of the newspaper. As a teaser, I’ll leave you with this photo from today’s auction at at Meridian Self Storage: