“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” – A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens

While traveling on a Virginia interstate in a rainstorm last week, a wave of anxiety crashed down upon me. My normally upbeat self suddenly felt deflated and depressed. This feeling caught me off guard and, being the overly rational guy that I am, I searched for an explanation.

Maybe it was the gloomy Coronavirus forecast I had just read. Over a million infections. Tens of thousands of deaths. The invisible virus was running roughshod over the world as we know it, with no end in sight. God, please do something.

Closer to home, maybe it was my concern for my eldest son, Jason (a prosthetist/orthotist), and daughter-in-law, Laci (an occupational therapist), who continue to see patients and are unable to “shelter in place.” Like many others, they are risking their own well-being to serve and treat others. God, please protect them.

Perhaps it was my mixed feelings about traveling to North Carolina to help Jason and his wife, Rachel, move into their new home. Helping them seemed like the right call, and we would take precautions, but there were risks. Specifically, we would return home to my elderly in-laws who had pre-existing conditions. Were we recklessly putting their health at risk? God, if this is a mistake, please forgive me and make it okay.

Maybe it was the 40 minutes I had been on hold with a potential mortgage lender, trying to secure financing, and a suitable timeline, for the home we were trying to purchase. If we were unable to close in 30 days, we risked losing the contract. God, I hate to be petty, but please have someone answer the phone and give me a favorable response.

More simply, maybe it was my concern about having Janet, my wife, driving on the interstate in the rain, so that I could make some important phone calls. God, please keep her alert and slow the rain.

All of those concerns joined forces and made a frontal assault on my resolve to “not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” (Philippians 4:6)

I have read and taught classes about that verse countless times. It’s so simple in concept, and so easy to do…in good times. The real test comes when you get that pit in your stomach during tough times. I wanted to believe that verse. I wanted to rise to the occasion. I wanted to practice what I had long preached and be a good example to my family. I wanted Jesus to be proud of me. But the pall of uncertainty and anxiety hung over me. Lord, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24)

And then, in this moment of intense anxiety, a song came on the radio. I wish I could say it was Bless the Lord, Oh My Soul or some old-time gospel favorite. It was not. I have no doubt God connects with his people, and they speak to one another with “psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit.” (Ephesians 5:19a)

But this was not a hymn I sang in worship. Perhaps God was taking me in a different direction. This was a song from the American rock band Styx—easily my favorite musical group during my formative middle-school years of the late 1970s. Unbeknownst to them, I sang lead vocals and backup air guitar, with the help of a basement 8-track tape player in our Dover, Delaware home. 

The song was written by their front man and lead singer, Dennis DeYoung. It appeared on their 1981 Paradise Theater album, which falls roughly between 1977’s The Grand Illusion (my all-time favorite album) and 1983’s Kilroy was Here, which featured the ubiquitous “Mr. Roboto.”

DeYoung wrote the song as a paraphrase of the Charles Dickens’ line, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” In an interview with Songwriter Universe magazine, he said, “For me, the song is simple. It’s when the world goes mad, how do you cope? And in this instance, it’s the love between two people, that they make their own paradise within their companionship, their love for each other, and their own home. And that’s what ‘The Best of Times’ is about…it’s saying that The Best of Times are when I’m alone with you.”

While on a lengthy telephone hold, with the rain pounding on our windshield, and a pit of anxiety swirling in my stomach, I listened to the song. No singing. No air guitar. I just listened…

Tonight’s the night we’ll make history
Honey, you and I
And I’ll take any risk to tie back the hands of time
And stay with you here tonight
I know you feel these are the worst of times
I do believe it’s true
When people lock their doors and hide inside
Rumor has it, it’s the end of paradise
But I know, if the world just passed us by
Baby I know, I wouldn’t have to cry, no no
The best of times are when I’m alone with you
Some rain some shine, we’ll make this a world for two
Our memories of yesterday will last a lifetime
We’ll take the best, forget the rest
And someday we’ll find
These are the best of times
These are the best of times
The headlines read, “These are the worst of times”
I do believe it’s true
I feel so helpless like a boat against the tide
I wish the summer winds could bring back paradise
But I know, if the world turned upside down
Baby, I know you’d always be around, my my
The best of times are when I’m alone with you
Some rain some shine, we’ll make this a world for two
The best of times are when I’m alone with you
Some rain some shine, we’ll make this a world for two

I don’t know that Dennis DeYoung could have foreseen a global pandemic that would wreak havoc on the world nearly 40 years later, killing (as of tonight) over 69,000 people. Still, he was on to something. So, let me repeat his earlier question: When the world goes mad, how do you cope?

For many, the world has gone mad. It’s the worst of times. The headlines confirm that. Our world has been turned upside down. We’re locking our doors and hiding inside. We feel like helpless boats against the tide. Rumor has it, it’s the end of paradise.

Still, we long for a world turned right side up. We pray for calmer waters. We wish for summer winds to bring back paradise, or at least some semblance of normalcy.

Despite all the chaos and uncertainty, DeYoung finds hope in the one he loves. Being alone with her is enough. He looks back on fond memories of yesterday that will last a lifetime. He focuses on the best and tries to forget the rest. He takes the good with the bad, the rain with the shine, and commits to a brighter future.

Although DeYoung’s outlook, at least in this song, doesn’t expressly include God…mine does. God has promised Christians a bright future and a happy ending…the best of times. God also tells us to pray to him, to make our requests known, in every situation.

So, as we drove down the interstate last week, I prayed to God…

God, please do something.
God, please protect them.
God, if this is a mistake, please forgive me and make it okay.
God, I hate to be petty, but please have someone answer the phone and give me a favorable response.
God, please keep her alert and slow the rain.
And, God, one more thing…thank you for giving me a wife and best friend to ride out this storm with.

If you’re struggling with anxiety, or even if you’re not, let me suggest you wake up every morning with a prayer on your lips and a couple of Bible verses memorized and on your heart. I recommend…

            “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” – Philippians 4:6

            “Be still and know that I am God.” – Psalm 46:10a

Finally, if you haven’t done so lately, be sure to tell the ones you love that you love them. Don’t let a day go by without your loved ones hearing those words. 

Let me begin. 

To my children, my daughters-in-law, the rest of my family, and my friends…I love you guys!

Janet…I love you! The best of times are when I’m alone with you.

Don’t ever forget that!

Among many excellent lines from my favorite movie, The Shawshank Redemption, we find this one from Andy Dufresne, played by Tim Robbins: 

“Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.”

Andy held on to a tiny strand of hope, despite being wrongfully imprisoned and enduring years of unimaginable hardship. He was raped and beaten multiple times and spent long periods in solitary confinement. Fortunately, Andy’s positive attitude and hope for the future helped him survive the ordeal. In fact, at the end of the film, we find him on a secluded Mexican beach, restoring an old boat as he had long dreamed of doing. 

Sadly, Andy’s elderly friend, Brooks, who lacked hope, takes his own life following his release from prison. This is unfortunately playing out in real life, as we hear reports of people who have committed suicide as a result of pandemic-induced feelings of hopelessness.

It seems the presence, or absence, of hope can make all the difference in the world.

For the past several weeks, as we’ve dealt with the Coronavirus pandemic, I’ve observed far more examples of fear and anxiety than hope. The news channels focus almost exclusively on the bad news—the numbers and rates of infection, the tragic deaths, lost jobs, and other catastrophic impacts. Bad news drives fear, and we easily take the bait. We’re afraid of things we can’t control and this pandemic seems to fit that definition.

I’m not denying or underestimating the devastating impact of this virus. Lives have been changed forever. More lives will be lost. But I don’t want to write about that. You can find that gloom and doom elsewhere. If you’re looking for more soul-crushing, negative virus news, you won’t find it here.

Instead, I want to share some good news. I’m a glass-half-full kind of guy. My hope is that the following good news will generate just a little hope in someone who feels, well, hopeless. 

1. The checks will soon be in the mail. Congress is on the verge of passing legislation that will boost unemployment insurance, incentivize businesses not to reduce payroll, and provide a desperately needed cash infusion to millions of Americans. That gives me hope.

2. While some businesses are having to close, reduce hours, or lay people off, others are hiring. The list of those hiring is long and continues to grow: 

https://fortune.com/2020/03/24/companies-hiring-right-now-near-me-coronavirus-amazon-walmart-cvs-walgreens-pizza/

If you’ve been let go from your job, I hope this list provides some hope.

3. The most powerful computer in the world, along with some of the brightest researchers on the planet, are aggressively working the problem. The Energy Department’s Summit supercomputer, located at Oak Ridge National Laboratory just 30 miles north of my home, recently identified 77 potential COVID-19 treatments, and then the Top 7. Read more about that here: 

https://futurism.com/neoscope/fastest-supercomputer-finds-potential-covid-treatments

The research has a ways to go, but the progress to date gives me hope. 

4. The number of new cases is falling where the outbreak began. The epidemic in China and the Republic of Korea has declined significantly. Wuhan province, where the virus began, recently reported no new local cases for the first time since the outbreak began. While the Chinese numbers are difficult to verify, the reports of the pandemic declining at ground zero give me a measure of hope. 

5. The Coronavirus is mutating relatively slowly, which may be good news: https://www.npr.org/2020/03/26/822107691/the-coronavirus-is-mutating-relatively-slowly-which-may-be-good-news

For now, at least, let’s drop the “may be” and just call it good news. News that gives me hope.

6. Most people infected with COVID-19 recover. While many thousands will die from the virus, and that’s tragic, estimates are that 99% of those infected will not. I pray that no one in your family or mine become infected. But if that were to happen, there’s a decent chance they would recover. That gives me hope.

7. Children seem to be infected less often and have milder disease. So far, the vast majority of infections have afflicted adults. For those with children and grandchildren, that’s got to increase your hope for a better tomorrow.

8. Churches are discovering new, innovative ways to conduct Bible studies and worship services online. If Satan thought this global pandemic would bring about the end of the church, he was badly mistaken. I know of one man who hasn’t stepped foot inside a church building in some time, but was willing to listen to a livestream of a worship service with his wife. That’s progress. A virus which could take his life might ultimately save it. That gives me hope.

9. Families are rediscovering family time. Sure, we’ll have bouts of cabin fever and will get on each other’s nerves from time to time. My wife, Janet, is concerned about my pledge to not shave until the virus has run its course—understandable if you’ve seen my Spanish moss beard. But, on the whole, this has been good for family time. We’re doing puzzles, playing games, watching sunsets, doing devotionals, and going for family hikes together. That’s more than Ann Frank got to do while hiding in an attic for two years. Our renewed family time gives me hope.

10. Christians will have a whole new appreciation for not just worshipping together, but simply being together. I bet we’ll never take fellowship—the being together in a common bond of love—for granted again. It’s also interesting that we have a renewed interest in checking in on our widows, shut-ins, and elderly…even an organized approach. Something we should have been doing all along, perhaps? This renewed interest in our friends, neighbors, fellow Christians, and the most vulnerable among us gives me hope.

11. While we can’t fully control the outcome of this pandemic, we can take reasonable steps to avoid infection. Wash your hands regularly. Practice social distancing. You know the drill. If you follow the rules, your hope of avoiding infection will increase.

12. Janet returned from our local Walmart this afternoon and said there was “plenty of toilet paper…the shelves were full.” If that doesn’t make you want to open a can of refried beans and shout praise to the Lord, then maybe hope, for you, is elusive.

13. This, too, shall pass. We’ll get through it. We’ve survived a Civil War, world wars, terrorist attacks, the scourge of slavery, The Great Depression, and other pandemics. I can’t tell you how long we’ll be in this tunnel, only that there is a light at the end of it. That gives me hope.

14. God hears our prayers. He understands our anxiety, our pain, and our doubt. He’s on the scene and He’s involved. Keep praying for the victims, those in quarantine, our doctors and nurses on the front lines, and the researchers and scientists trying to develop a cure. Knowing that God (not me, the government, or anything else) is in control and hears my prayers gives me indescribable hope.

15. Ultimately, my hope is in Christ and an eternal home with Him in heaven. Whether I’m done in by the virus, a car accident, cancer, or old age, I’m not getting out of this life alive. You aren’t either. We’re all terminal. Like Job, our days are “but a breath.” (Job 7:16) Knowing that, I always want to be in a right relationship with God. When I am, I can echo the words of Paul who said, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.” Our hope for glory is found in Christ and Christ alone. (Colossians 1:27) 

So, when you hit the pillow tonight, I hope you’ll consider the above 15 points along with Andy’s words to Red: Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.

Christians have hope. Hope for good things. Hope for the best of things. We know that our stories will end well, regardless of how or when they end. Virus or no virus, our future is secure. 

And that gives us hope.

I spent yesterday doing disaster relief in the tornado destruction zone in Cookeville, Tennessee. I’m always hesitant to write about these experiences. Some may view my words as an attempt to pat myself on the back or garner attention. Please understand that is not my motivation. Whatever “attention” our efforts bring gets directed at the God we serve. Jesus gets ALL the glory and honor. 

I also hope that by sharing my experience, others become more aware of opportunities to serve. Case in point: after publicly telling my story to our church family at Bible study last night, several approached me asking questions. They want to get involved and be a part of the recovery effort. That’s the goal and my motivation for this blog.

My trip to Cookeville was a spur of the moment decision. I read an article on the tornado yesterday morning and felt compelled to do something—anything. I gathered a few belongings and granola bars and took off down I-40. 

I had no plan, which is unusual for me. Sometimes you just move toward an area of need and trust that God will work the specifics. I pulled into the Jackson Street Church of Christ in Cookeville where Churches of Christ Disaster Relief, Inc. is set up and operating. They didn’t need any volunteers there that day, but said various teams were out in the community helping those who had lost homes. That’s the answer I was looking for.

With the help of Google, I learned that much of the destruction occurred along Broad Street so I headed in that direction. The main zone of destruction is only accessible by first responders, residents, and utility workers…and by foot. In fact, farther west along that road, Search and Recovery operations are still ongoing. As of yesterday, 17 individuals were still unaccounted for.

I pulled into a partially damaged subdivision where a few dozen young people were piling up debris and cutting up downed trees. Looking like a college student myself (no comments!), I parked my car and joined in. The hardworking students were from nearby Tennessee Tech University. They were highly motivated and focused.

After two hours, I downed a couple of hot dogs courtesy of a nearby makeshift food ministry. I then walked west along Broad St. into the main destruction zone. No matter how many times you do this kind of work, it always breaks your heart. To the left, a used car dealership had been reduced to rubble. The damaged cars had been tossed about along the road and into a surrounding field. 

To the right, up on a hill, a home had been damaged beyond repair. A few dozen workers were spread out across the property, cutting up trees and transporting the wood and debris to the road. A giant crane was removing sections of the roof. A U-Haul van was out front and people, presumably family members, were filling it full of whatever household items could be salvaged. I joined the work crew for about an hour, working alongside several Marines wearing t-shirts that said, “Pain is weakness leaving the body.” If that is true, I thought, this community will eventually end up stronger as a result of this tragedy.

Mid-afternoon, I continued my journey west and joined another crew hauling debris from a mostly demolished home on the north side of the road. I soon found myself working alongside a couple of Marines, a few TN Tech students, and a dozen Mennonite men—people with very different backgrounds united by a mission to rid the area of downed trees and scattered debris.

After about 45 minutes, I noticed a grey-headed, bespectacled, elderly woman sitting on the steps of the collapsed front porch of the home. She was in a long-sleeved black t-shirt, red and black checkered pants, and high work boots. I went over and sat down beside her. She had a bruised chin and abrasions on the side of her face.  

“Are you the homeowner?” I asked.

“I am,” she replied. “Thank you for your help.”

She was clearly still in shock, not quite to the phase where the reality of the situation, and corresponding grief, sets in. Rather than talk or dispense advice, my natural inclination, I decided to just listen.

For the next 10 minutes, she told me her story. At around 2 o’clock a.m., she was awoken by the sound of sirens. She was initially puzzled by this, because she didn’t hear the sound of thunderstorms or rain. She pulled her little dog close and pulled a big blanket over the two of them. 

Moments later, the “freight train”—what we now know to be an EF-4 tornado—came roaring down her street. Her home began to shake and she could hear the howl of the wind and the sound of glass breaking. Suddenly, her bed was elevated, slammed against the side of the room, and dropped. With sections of her home collapsing around her, and debris flying everywhere, she thought this is how it will end.

But God spared her. Her story wouldn’t end in a pile of rubble on Broad Street in Putnam County.

The storm passed by and things turned eerily quiet. She pushed aside some debris and cautiously stepped from her bed, still clutching her little dog. There was just enough visibility for her to realize much of her home had caved in. The only way out was through a partially broken window. She busted the remainder of it out and somehow found the strength to climb outside to freedom. Once in her side yard, she was able to make out a scene of chaos and destruction through the darkness. She couldn’t see her neighbors’ homes on account of the downed trees and debris field.

But, looking southward, off in the distance, she spotted a light.

Not knowing what else to do, she screamed to the top of her lungs.

“Heeeeelp!”

A second later, the reply.

“Walk toward the light, Miss Lambert!”

“Walk toward the light and it’ll be okay!”

Truer words have never been spoken.

Still gripping her dog, and unaware of the blood flowing from her leg, she carefully negotiated the debris field and walked toward the light. Her neighbor comforted her, stopped the flow of blood from her leg, and bandaged her wound. At daylight, her son arrived on the scene. After working his way into her home and noticing the amount of blood on the floor in her bedroom, he determined his mom needed to go to the hospital.

Miss Lambert had several staples put into her leg and had multiple bruises and abrasions all over her body. But no bones were broken, and her wounds are not life-threatening. The same cannot be said for the 18 fatalities in Putnam County alone. On top of that, 88 souls were injured and, as of today, three are still missing.

I thanked Miss Lambert for sharing her story and asked if I could pray with her. She said that would be wonderful—that she needed all the prayers she could get. I also told her that I have lots of friends around the country who would want to pray for her as well.

So, if you can go to Cookeville or Nashville or one of the other impacted communities and help, please do so. They desperately need “boots on the ground.” If you can donate to a relief agency, either directly or through your church, that would also be greatly appreciated.

Additionally, I’m asking you to pray for the families and friends of those who have lost loved ones and for the injured. Pray that the missing can be found. Pray for healing. God knows all their names and all their situations. 

I would also like to encourage you to send a card or note of encouragement to Miss Chris Lambert. Although her home is destroyed (I’ll include some photos), the post office is holding her mail for her. I know a bunch of cards would mean a lot to this elderly woman who has lost almost all of her worldly possessions. You can reach her at:

            Chris Lambert

            1681 W. Broad St.

            Cookeville, TN 38501

After returning home last night, I read an article about the disaster. One of the victims, Rodney Mathis, said, “We’ve lost everything. But you know what, it’s not what you got, it’s who you got…And we got a lot of good neighbors here. We pull together and you’ll see the community pull together and clean this up. You won’t know it in a week.”

It’s not what you got, it’s who you got. 

Miss Lambert’s got us…so let’s write to her and pray for her, along with the other victims.

In John 8:12, Jesus says, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

Whatever situation you find yourself in—whatever struggles you’re facing in life—remember to walk toward the Light. 

Walk toward the Light and you’ll be okay.

Jean, a Senior Saint and family friend, asked the question while I was visiting my dad’s church in Tullahoma, TN, last year: “Steve, next February, would you be willing to speak to a group I’m a member of?”

“Sure, Jean, I’d be happy to. February looks clear. Just email me the details.”

When I’m asked to speak to a group and my calendar is clear, I always say yes. I’ve spoken about my Appalachian Trail hike and the lessons I learned over 40 times in the past few years. I’ve shared my insights at churches, schools, children’s homes, community centers, colleges, and camps across a dozen states. Audiences have ranged from 10 people to several hundred, from 3rd graders to really old people.

I’m invited not because I’m eloquent but because I don’t charge a fee and people are interested in my hike. I accept the invitations because I’m blessed to have the opportunity to share a unique perspective on my AT journey and corresponding faith journey. The AT hike gives me an excuse to talk about God to people who might otherwise not be interested. I realize this season won’t last forever—the invitations will eventually stop coming. So, for this season, I always say yes.

That brings me to Jean’s invitation.

“I want you to speak at the February 4th meeting of the Highland Rim Chapter of the Tennessee Ornithological Society.”
“Head and neck people?”
“No, that’s otolaryngology. I’m talking ornithology.”
“Insects?”
“No, birds. We’re bird people.”
“Birds? I don’t know anything about birds.”
“Yes, but you hiked the AT.”
“I don’t recall seeing any birds.”
“You hiked over 2000 miles in the woods and didn’t see any birds?”
“Not that I recall. I heard one or two fluttering in nearby bushes. I’m sure there were others, but I was looking down, watching where I was going.”
“Hmm. Maybe that’s okay. I’ve heard you speak and I think they would appreciate what you have to say. You sure you didn’t encounter any birds?”
“Well, I don’t know if this qualifies, but at an all-you-can-eat buffet in Atkins, I ate 7 or 8 pieces of fried chicken.”
“Chicken? We can work with that.”

For the first time in 4 years, I got a little nervous about an upcoming speaking gig. What was I going to say to bird people? Aside from feathers and the ability to fly, I know almost nothing about birds. As for experience, in the late 90s, two birds pooped on my youngest son, Kyle, within a span of 30 minutes. He teared up and his mom comforted him while I laughed. But that was while waiting to board a boat at the San Antonio Riverwalk, not on the AT. I’m not sure that was the kind of bird insight these people were looking for. And, with the venue being less than a mile from the Jack Daniel’s Distillery, would the audience even be sober?

Unsettled, I went to my friend, Valerie, a kind person, mother of 4, wife of 1, and bird lover. Valerie is into birds big-time. She identifies, counts, and photographs them. She bathes her children in a birdbath—except for Eli, who’s a male teenager. Valerie doesn’t just sit in the pew in front of us at church—she nests. While others affirm the preacher with a hearty “Amen!” Valerie squawks. On a jog in Alcoa this past summer, I spotted her standing by a pond, staring into the sky with binoculars. Birds energize her in much the same way that an RC Cola and moon pie energize me. Yes, I would approach Valerie for advice.

“Hey, Valerie, I need a favor. I’m speaking to an ortho…, ornith…, to some bird people in Lynchburg next week. Can you help?”
“What do you know about birds?”
“I’ve had fried chicken.”
“I see. Are you the only thing on the agenda?”
“No, I’m right before ‘great backyard bird counts’ and a ‘Woodcock display outing’.”
“Woodcocks are awesome!”
“You bet they are!” (She wasn’t going to out-enthusiasm me.)
“Seriously, let me show you the funky American Woodcock dance.”
(She pulls out her phone and orders up a video of an American Woodcock dancing.)
“That is awesome! What a crazy head bob!”
“It’s a courtship display.”
“I know that. I used it myself in college.”
“So, when you’re talking about the AT, just work in a little Woodcock dancing.”
“That’s perfect. I’ll bob and weave and keep moving. I’m so glad I came to you.”

Later that evening…
“Hon, what are you doing?”
“Practicing the Woodcock dance.”
“The what?”
“The Woodcock dance. It’s a mating ritual. What do you think?”
“We’re past that. Just come to bed.”
(What does Jan know about birds!)

So, yesterday, I drove to Lynchburg to talk to mostly strangers about God, the AT, and birds. I was greeted warmly by Jean and hubby Darrell, then approached by an elderly woman with the aura of a bird club matriarch. She introduced herself and told me she was 86 years old…

I replied, “Wow, I bet you’ve seen a lot of birds!” (Not a great opening line. Should have led with the woodchuck.)
“Oh, yes indeed.”
“What are your favorite birds?” (My small talk skills are legendary.)
“Well, that’s a tough one. I enjoy the wren…although it’s so small. Hard to spot.”
“Yes, tiny, but cute.”
“And, of course, the reticulated woodpecker.”
“Of course. The way it reticulates reminds me of my favorite bird, the woodchuck.”

She gave me an odd look and then we were mercifully interrupted by the announcement that it was time for dinner. I joined 25 of the sweetest Tennesseans you’ll ever meet for a delightful meal featuring nuts and seeds. During the meal, I learned that on their latest bird count for the Audubon Society, they had reported an impressive 76 species and 3,706 birds. These people take birding seriously.

As I stood to prepare to speak, I did a little Woodcock dance as an ice-breaker/attention-getting step.

Dead silence. Tough crowd.

“You okay?” a man asked.
“Yeah, just got a little crick in my neck. Long drive.”
“Maybe use a chair?”
“No, I’m good.”

For the next 45 minutes, I talked to these dear people about God, the AT, and birds. For the bird portion, I used a picture of a nest with 4 eggs in it, which I had taken while on the AT in Grayson Highlands, Virginia. The excitement in their eyes I had hoped for may have been diminished by their familiarity with nests and eggs.

More positively, I mentioned a “distraction display” that I had witnessed on the trail a few times, where a bird will fly away from its nest and flap its wings, feigning injury, to distract a predator from its nest. A few in the audience nodded in understanding and approval. They were essentially acknowledging my bird swag. For one special moment, I was one with the audience—birds of a feather. I spent the rest of my allotted time talking to them about God and the AT, and then I drove home.

In 1 Corinthians 9:20-22, Paul said, and I’m paraphrasing…

• I became like a Jew to win the Jews
• I became like one under the law to win those under the law
• I became like one not having the law to win those not having the law
• I became weak to win the weak
• “I have become all things to all people so that by all possible means I might save some.”

I’m not a bird guy. I’m not eloquent. I’m certainly not Paul.

But when the February 4th 2020 minutes of the meeting of the Highland Rim Chapter of the Tennessee Ornithological Society are written, may they state: On a rainy night at the Moore County Building in Lynchburg, Tennessee, the unqualified and not-entirely-confident Fob W. Pot became a bird guy, though not a bird guy, to try to win some bird guys.

What can you become?

What unfamiliar or uncomfortable environment can you enter to reach someone?

If you follow sports or national news headlines, you’ve probably heard about or seen video of the all-out, bench-clearing brawl that occurred at the end of the Kansas-Kansas State college basketball game on Tuesday night. As basketball fights go, it was the scariest I’ve seen. It’s a wonder no one was seriously injured.

Coaches, parents, youth ministers, and middle-aged bloggers call these incidents “teachable moments.” However, before we get to what is teachable, let’s set the stage.

The Kansas Jayhawks had a 22-point lead over their cross-state rival and the ball at half court toward the end of the game. In such a scenario, two unwritten rules of game etiquette generally apply:

1. If you have the ball, are way ahead, and time is running out, you stop trying to score. There’s no need to add to your already substantial lead—no need to further humiliate your weaker opponent. You dribble in place and everyone stands around until time expires.
2. If you are far behind and your opponent is adhering to rule #1, you allow them to. You back off and let them run out the clock.

However, there is a third principle that is often applied in sports and in life: 

3. Play hard to the end. Never give up. The game isn’t over until the final horn sounds.

Despite Kansas State Coach Weber’s explicit instructions to his team to adhere to rule #2, DaJuan Gordon was having none of that. Whether it was due to his youth, inexperience, frustration over losing, or a firm belief in rule #3, Gordon stripped Kansas’ Silvio De Sousa of the ball and drove down the court to attempt an end-of-game score. De Sousa, upset that his adherence to rule #1 had not resulted in his opponent’s adherence to rule #2, charged down the court to make a play on the ball. If his opponent was going to live rule #3, he would as well.

De Sousa caught up with Gordon and forcefully blocked his attempted layup. Had the story ended there, we would have no story. Unfortunately, De Sousa, still enraged over the perceived disrespect shown him, stood over Gordon, taunting him. Players on the Kansas State bench, in response to the taunting, left the bench and charged the scene. Players from the Kansas bench soon followed. A melee ensued, with pushing, shoving, and punches thrown. As the fight spilled into the crowd, De Sousa picked up a chair and raised it to deliver a blow, but was stopped by an assistant coach. After several frightening moments, players were separated and order was restored.

As for the teachable…

1. Note the linkage between anger and violence. When emotions get out of hand, bad things result. James 1:1 asks, “What causes fights and quarrels among you? Don’t they come from your desires that battle within you?” In the Sermon on the Mount, specifically Matthew 5:21-22, Jesus says it’s not enough to simply not murder…we should not even become angry. Violence, and the murder that sometimes results from it, has its roots in anger. Rather than fully vent our rage like a fool (Proverbs 29:11), we “should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.” (James 1:19)

2. Be a peacemaker! In Matthew 5:9, Jesus blesses peacemakers and says they will be called children of God. You can spot them in the video of the brawl. They are the coaches, security personnel, and others who are separating players, deescalating the situation, and preventing further harm. Without their calming presence, I wonder how the scenario would have ended. I also wonder, had I been there, what role would I have played? Would I have joined my favorite team in throwing punches? Would I have stepped back but cheered them on? Would I have sat silently, thinking “it’s not my fight”? Or, would I have helped deescalate the situation as a peacemaker?

3. Bad behavior has consequences. In Colossians 3:25, Paul writes, “Anyone who does wrong will be repaid for their wrongs.” Yesterday, the Big 12 suspended four players a combined 25 games for their roles in the fight. De Sousa, as the primary instigator, was given a 12-game suspension by the league office. A teammate received a 2-game suspension and two Kansas State players received 8-game and 2-game suspensions. Both schools were reprimanded by the Big 12 for violations of its sportsmanship policy. Beyond that, the incident sullied the reputation of the teams, college basketball, and the players themselves. Less importantly, the suspensions will impact the teams’ ability to win basketball games while the suspensions are served.

4. Bad behavior should lead to contrition. To the credit of the players and coaches, that’s what happened following the brawl. The coaches and several of the players apologized. Coach Self called a female spectator who had been knocked down in the scuffle to check on her and apologize for his team’s behavior. I didn’t read any excuses from anyone directly involved in the incident. In this day and age, that’s remarkable. Pay attention to how often people try to justify or mitigate bad behavior by beginning, “But what about…” and then pointing to the just as bad, or even worse, behavior of someone else. It happens every day. Except for some fans’ comments, it didn’t happen in this case. Consider De Sousa’s heartfelt apology on his Twitter account…

 He owned his behavior, apologized for it, and accepted the consequences. He offered no excuses. There was no, “But what about…” He’s embarrassed by his actions and wants to do better going forward. He concludes with “I messed up and I am sorry.” That’s contrition. In the Christian context, that’s called confession of sins and repentance.

5. When we learn from our mistakes, we can be better going forward. In Philippians 3:13b, Paul calls us to forget what is behind and strain toward what is ahead. To bounce back and not let our past define us. I believe that will be the case with Silvio De Sousa. I’ll admit, I had a pretty low opinion of him after watching the video. Literally, all I knew about him was what may go down as the worst 30 seconds of his life. (I would hate for anyone to judge me or draw conclusions based on the worst 30 seconds of my life!) I still don’t know much about the young man, but on his Twitter account, I note his prayer for the safety of our troops on January 4^th and, on December 29^th, an expression of thankfulness to “the man up above” for every minute of his life. On December 18^th, he joined his teammates in Christmas shopping for families in need. I don’t know Silvio De Sousa’s heart, but I think he’s going to bounce back and do great things with his life. I’m pulling for him.

A teachable moment? I think so. To recap… 

• Guard your emotions, especially anger. 
• Be known as a peacemaker, regardless of context.
• Before acting, consider the consequences of your behavior.
• When you screw up, own it. Don’t make excuses. Ask God to forgive you.
• Learn from your mistakes and be a better person going forward.

Oh, and one more thing: Don’t draw conclusions about a person based on the worst 30 seconds of their life. There may be more to the story.

Class dismissed.