Remembering Robert McNamara

I've had a fascination with the brusque and articulate Robert McNamara since I first saw the documentary "The Fog of War" in 2004. McNamara served as Secretary of Defense during the Kennedy and LBJ administrations and, as such, was perhaps the key architect of the Vietnam War. McNamara died last week.

The reason I find him so fascinating is that he was known for being the hawk of all hawks during his time as defense secretary. He stubbornly insisted that if we were to prevent world war III from taking place, it must involve containing the spread of communism in Vietnam. For this reason, McNamara constantly advised his presidents to escalate and continue the war -- making him the icon of scorn by all anti-war advocates. Although he denies it, many believe that McNamara issued the infamous order to use Agent Orange as a chemical weapon. Those facts alone would not make him a very interesting person, but it is what happened later in his life that fascinates me.

Robert McNamara changed his opinion. In 1995 he wrote a memoir detailing his time in office and basically repenting for his role in the escalation of the Vietnam conflict. After several visits to Vietnam, he had seen the devastation of the war and became convinced that sending more and more troops would be futile -- an opinion he kept to himself until 1995. In his final days, although never embracing pacifism McNamara became a harsh critic of uninhibited war and offered the following eleven lessons that we can learn from both WWII and the Vietnam experience. These are taken from the movie "The Fog of War" and each lesson is followed by a quote by McNamara:

LESSON #1: EMPATHIZE WITH YOUR ENEMY.
"Kennedy was trying to keep us out of war. I was trying to help him keep us out of war. And General Curtis LeMay, whom I served under as a matter of fact in World War II, was saying 'Let's go in, let's totally destroy Cuba.'"

LESSON #2: RATIONALITY WILL NOT SAVE US.
"I want to say, and this is very important: at the end we lucked out. It was luck that prevented nuclear war."

LESSON #3: THERE'S SOMETHING BEYOND ONE'S SELF.
"I took more philosophy classes - particularly one in logic and one in ethics. Stress on values and something beyond one's self, and a responsibility to society."

LESSON #4: MAXIMIZE EFFICIENCY.
"In that single night, we burned to death 100,000 Japanese civilians in Tokyo: men, women, and children."

LESSON #5: PROPORTIONALITY SHOULD BE A GUIDELINE IN WAR.
"[I]n order to win a war should you kill 100,000 people in one night, by firebombing or any other way. LeMay's answer would be clearly 'Yes' . . . Proportionality should be a guideline in war. Killing 50% to 90% of the people of 67 Japanese cities and then bombing them with two nuclear bombs is not proportional, in the minds of some people, to the objectives we were trying to achieve."

LESSON #6: GET THE DATA.
"I was present with the President when together we received information of that coup. I've never seen him more upset. He totally blanched. President Kennedy and I had tremendous problems with Diem, but my God, he was the authority, he was the head of state. And he was overthrown by a military coup. And Kennedy knew and I knew, that to some degree, the U.S. government was responsible for that."

LESSON #7: BELIEF AND SEEING ARE BOTH OFTEN WRONG.
"We spent ten hours that day trying to find out what in the hell had happened. At one point, the commander of the ship said, 'We're not certain of the attack.' At another point they said, 'Yes, we're absolutely positive.' And then finally late in the day, Admiral Sharp said, 'Yes, we're certain it happened.' So I reported this to Johnson, and as a result there were bombing attacks on targets in North Vietnam. Johnson said we may have to escalate, and I'm not going to do it without Congressional authority. And he put forward a resolution, the language of which gave complete authority to the President to take the nation to war: The Tonkin Gulf Resolution."

LESSON #8: BE PREPARED TO REEXAMINE YOUR REASONING.
"Were those who issued the approval to use Agent Orange: criminals? Were they committing a crime against humanity? Let's look at the law. Now what kind of law do we have that says these chemicals are acceptable for use in war and these chemicals are not. We don't have clear definitions of that kind. I never in the world would have authorized an illegal action. I'm not really sure I authorized Agent Orange. I don't remember it but it certainly occurred, the use of it occurred while I was Secretary."

LESSON #9: IN ORDER TO DO GOOD, YOU MAY HAVE TO ENGAGE IN EVIL.
"How much evil must we do in order to do good? We have certain ideals, certain responsibilities. Recognize that at times you will have to engage in evil, but minimize it."

LESSON #10: NEVER SAY NEVER.
"One of the lessons I learned early on: never say never. Never, never, never. Never say never. And secondly, never answer the question that is asked of you. Answer the question that you wish had been asked of you. And quite frankly, I follow that rule. It's a very good rule."

LESSON #11: YOU CAN'T CHANGE HUMAN NATURE
"We all make mistakes. We know we make mistakes. I don't know any military commander, who is honest, who would say he has not made a mistake. There's a wonderful phrase: 'the fog of war.' What 'the fog of war' means is: war is so complex it's beyond the ability of the human mind to comprehend all the variables. Our judgment, our understanding, are not adequate. And we kill people unnecessarily."

Welcoming the Stranger

This article was written as a submission for the magazine Light and Life.

Each Monday roughly eighty residents of my community crowd into the little sanctuary of our church in order to receive a few bags of groceries from our food pantry. Increasingly, we have noticed that many who are coming look and speak different from us – they are Latinos who have come to our city of Indianapolis in order to find a new life and escape the destitution of their homeland. Each week I look into their smiling eyes, wishing my Spanish were not so poor and wondering what story they have to tell. What could have brought them here to the inner city? How horrible must it have been to leave your culture, language, and family for a strange land?

You don’t have to be a news junkie to figure out that immigration is a very heated topic in today’s culture. With over 70,000 foreigners arriving in the States each day and projections that by 2042 white Caucasians will be in the minority, it is no wonder that many people have strong feelings about the issue. As the left and right debate over better immigration policy, what ought to be the Christian’s response to immigration? What does the Bible teach us about the alien within our midst?

First and foremost, we must recognize that immigration is not just about policy; it’s about people – people that God loves dearly and calls his own. God has always had a soft spot in his heart for those who are stranded in a foreign land. God intended for his people to be renowned for their hospitality and compassion for those on the margins of society. The Lord commanded his people in this way: "'When an alien lives with you in your land, do not mistreat him. The alien living with you must be treated as one of your native-born. Love him as yourself, for you were aliens in Egypt. I am the LORD your God” (Leviticus 19:33-34). Indeed, such demands to welcome, respect, and care for the physical needs of the immigrant can be found consistently throughout the Old Testament. In fact, as one Free Methodist bishop recently pointed out, the Bible has much more to say directly about the issue of immigration that it does about the issue of abortion.

The New Testament is equally clear. It is no coincidence that Joseph, Mary, and Jesus were themselves migrants in a foreign land. The threat posed by Herod necessitated their flight to Egypt. For this reason, according to the Roman Catholic Church, Joseph, Mary, and Jesus “are, for all times and all places, the models and protectors of every migrant, alien and refugee of whatever kind who, whether compelled by fear of persecution or by want, is forced to leave his native land, his beloved parents and relatives, his close friends, and to seek a foreign soil.”

Perhaps the most fundamental principle of the New Testament which calls Christians to radical love and acceptance of the foreigner is the second greatest commandment: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus consistently redefines neighbor as anyone who is in need – not simply those of our own ethnicity (Luke 10:30-37). The lavish love of the Father which sends rain and sunshine on both the righteous and the unrighteous must be imitated by those who claim to be his children.

But what if the foreigner in our midst is here illegally? Some will object that caring for illegal immigrants is immoral since they stand in violation of the laws of the land. But as Christians we answer to a higher authority and when the laws of a nation conflict with the laws of God, there must be no doubt in the believer’s mind which should take precedence (Acts 5:29). Unfortunately, many politicians and pundits have capitalized on mankind’s natural fear of those different than ourselves. But believers must see through such ploys – when we look into the eyes of an illegal immigrant, we do not see “one of them” or “a national security risk.” Instead, we see a woman or man created in the image of God for whom Christ died.

Illegal immigration has often sadly been construed as a national security issue. But for the Christian it must primarily be seen as a human rights issue. Instead of focusing on how we can care for the poor and destitute, our voices have sometimes been subverted by a militant nationalism which demands building up walls instead of tearing them down. Bill Mefford, a graduate of Asbury Seminary and United Methodist leader, stated it clearly: “When the focus of the church is blurred from defending the rights of immigrants and their families, to also defending the rights of the State, we come dangerously close to forfeiting our prophetic call to hold the State accountable for its treatment of immigrants. When the church loses its prophetic calling, our mission becomes little more than societal maintenance by assimilating the vulnerable into their assigned place at the bottom of the social, economic, and political order, no matter how unjust that order may be. This is a skewed and unbiblical missiology.”

It is high time for us as a church to set aside our political differences and with one voice proclaim to the immigrant (legal or not): We are on your side! God loves you and so do we! Following the law of love will lead us not only to show extra concern for the alien who might live next door, but also to advocate for them on a political level. Currently thousands of Christians around the nation are signing a petition created by the advocacy group Christians for Comprehensive Immigration Reform. I believe the words of this petition are consistent with the heartbeat of the first Free Methodists:

As a Christian, I believe my faith calls me to view all people, regardless of citizenship status, as made in the "image of God" and deserving of respect; to show compassion for the stranger and love and mercy for my neighbor; and to balance the rule of law with the call to oppose unjust laws and systems when they violate human dignity.

These biblical principles compel me to support immigration reform legislation that is consistent with humanitarian values, supports families, provides a pathway to citizenship for immigrant workers already in the U.S., expands legal avenues for workers to enter the U.S. with their rights and due process fully protected, and examines solutions to address the root causes of migration.

Let us set aside our fear, resist being duped by the politicians, and, as the people of God, stand in solidarity with the aliens in our midst.

The Stars and Stripes

"Patriotism is the virtue of the vicious." - Oscar Wilde

Has anyone stopped to ask, "Why is patriotism considered to be such a virtue in our culture?" It seems so utterly arbitrary to me. I would not go out and kill others and sacrifice my life for Marion County if it got into a squabble with Hamilton County. I would not kill Cub fans in the name of glorifying the Cardinals. What right does my nation have to my allegiance any more than my city or county or skin color or language or last name? We all define ourselves by particular social boundaries and then create civil religions in order to perpetuate those boundaries. Hence, we have pep rallies at our high schools. We have mascots for our sports teams. And we have the star spangled banner sung in our modern day worship centers (aka Lucas Oil Stadium). But I don't want to swear loyalty and a willingness to kill for my county or my state or my sports team or my skin color or my language or any other human boundary that we create between us. What if I'd been born in Mexico? Would I be an ardent, dyed-in-the-wool, willing-to-kill-others fanatic for Mexico? I hope not. That would be stupid.

I'd really rather swear my loyalty to humanity. Are you part of the species homo sapiens? Then I'm with you! It doesn't matter to me that you have squinty eyes or talk Swahili or use the yen to buy your groceries. It doesn't matter to me if you prefer communism or socialism or capitalism or anarchy or Obamaism. I just want to be part of your team. I want to join the pro-humanity party.

As I look around to various communities/nations/states/organizations/conglomorations of people with a common shaping identity, I can't find one that fits the bill just right. I want to be part of a nation that always loves the unlovable, that always invites and never excludes, that chooses harmony over war, that woos instead of coerces, that is filled with self-giving submission to one another, that embraces freedom and justice for ALL people, that doesn't need to compromise its standards in order to maintain power, that isn't ruled by an iron fist from above and is instead ruled through humility from below, that embraces Greg Coates for who he is and seeks to transform him into something far better than he could ever dream, and that is led by a benevolent monarch. Wow. If I could find such a country, I would pledge my allegiance to it and never pledge my allegiance to any other nation or institution or group.

And I did find it. And I'll never pledge allegiance to another again.

How Do I Force Myself to Like Someone?

I know that as a Christian it is my duty to love all. Holiness, in my understanding, is an ever expanding love for those different than myself. But sometimes certain people offer no qualities or characteristics that naturally draw me to them. Some people are dull and uninteresting. I know that sounds very harsh, but I think it is true. Ironically, I have no trouble "liking" people of other cultures -- although I may have very little in common with them. The people I struggle to like the most are those that are white, middle-class folk that read nothing interesting, write nothing interesting, and think nothing interesting. They seem content to live out their lives quietly, accomplishing very little, and having no desire to impact the world for the good.

My problem is this: I don't know how to manufacture a genuine desire to be around such people and talk with such people. I know that I OUGHT to like such people, but mostly they just annoy me and, if I'm honest, I would almost always choose to spend my time with someone else. Should I just resolve myself to "putting up" with certain people for the rest of my life? Or is there something I can do to make myself like and respect such people?

An Hour in the Life of a Mommy

The following was written by my lovely wife. I enjoyed it so much that I asked her permission to post it on my blog. This is far more interesting than anything I have ever written:

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Yesterday I spent the good part of an hour explaining to the clerk at a public health clinic why I only had proof of income for my husband. I needed an aching cavity filled pronto, and the clinic down the street seemed the cheapest way to go. The only hold-up was the check stubs I'd brought along, which only had Greg's name on them.

“So you don't work?” he asked. “Then I need an official unemployment statement to show that you are unemployed.”

Unemployed. The “U” word. Adjective meaning unoccupied, idle, at liberty, jobless.

I'm pretty sure the guy doesn't have kids.

Lest any American citizen should forget, the mothers of young children are tireless workers who seldom sleep, eat, or use the bathroom while clocked out. We are union-less, require few breaks, and earn the saddest of incomes. Our achievements are rarely measured or noted, and on top of it all we have these outrageous hormones.

To illustrate this point, I will paint for you a picture of a mere hour of my day as a stay-at-home mom. This hour takes place between 1:30 and 2:30 pm on a Wednesday. Events occur in real time.

The hour begins as Greg settles down with Lydah in the living room to watch a movie. He is in between meetings, and has had lunch with us as usual. (It is such a blessing to live next to the church.) Now, the disciplinarian mom in me says, “Lydah shouldn't be watching a movie right now. It's nap time, not movie time.” But fun mom says, “Let it go, she can take the nap later. She's with her dad. This is quality time.” So I button my lip and go about changing Eve's diaper.

I should mention at this point that, in order to save on diaper expense and diaper waste, our family has embarked on a wonderful adventure called cloth diapering. And while they are more bank-friendly and much greener than their disposable counterparts, cloth diapers are terribly inconvenient when they are all sopping wet in the dryer.

So, I leave Eve diaper-less for a few minutes on the changing table (safely strapped in, of course), and run up to fetch some laundry.

About this time, Greg needs to head back to work (did I mention what a blessing it is to live right next to the church?). As expected of a nap-deprived two-year-old, Lydah begins sobbing dramatically about Daddy leaving her.

I come down to console her and find that sweet little Eve, in the 2.33 minutes I was away from her, has managed to have the most remarkable poop, sans the diaper to catch it. So there's poop on the table, poop on the wipes, poop on her clothes, and poop on her happily thrashing hands and feet.

I pin down her hands and speed dial Greg, who runs right over (such a blessing to live next to the church.)

We work together to rescue the baby from her mess, bathe her, and clean up the mess before his counseling appointment. Lydah, meanwhile, has settled back down to her movie and hasn't even noticed that Daddy came back.

I am in the midst of toweling off Eve, and Greg has just walked out the back door, when our door bell rings. So I run down the stairs with the naked baby and answer the front door, finding, of course, the church member who is wondering where her pastor is and is he still planning to meet with her and why doesn't he answer the church doorbell?

“He was just here helping me for a second. He should be there now. Try again!” I say in my super-sweet, covering-up-the-insanity-of-my-life voice. (Did I mention what a burden it is to live next to the church?)

Finally, I am able to dress the baby, and diaper her, using the now perfectly dry (and green and cheap) diapers from the dryer, and just as I am thinking about how nice it might be to have Lydah take that nap after all, I hear a voice from downstairs cry out, “I'm all sticky and wet!”

None other than the two-year-old has managed to cover herself with a bowl of canned peaches, which she has sneakily stolen from on top of the kitchen counter. As an aside, I have to say how impressed I was with her physical strength – I didn't even know she could climb that high. Not so impressive, however, was the horrible mess she had made carrying the bowl from the counter to the living room, and the sticky peach juice that was tangling up her hair and dripping down her neck and all over her clothes.

This, considering that I had just finished bathing the sister. This, considering I had just scrubbed and vacuumed all the floors less than 24-hours prior (in order to keep the sister from eating bits of trash she kept finding in the carpet). This, considering I had just changed Lydah's clothes for the third time that day due to pee-pee accidents.

All of this considering, I was at the end of my rope, and made the horrible mistake of asking, a bit too loudly, “Why in the world are you eating peaches in the living room?”

Now, I am the mother of a very sensitive daughter, and furthermore, I am very committed to talking respectfully to my children even in those moments when I want to scream till the shingles peel off. So Lydah's actions in the next moments are quite reasonable and forgivable. Mostly.

Rather than answering my question, my sweet daughter began throwing a truly awful tantrum, howling out “No! Mommy, no!”, stomping around in the peach juice, and throwing a pillow or two before I sent her to time out in the bathroom.

It was about this time that the hour ended, so I will spare you, Mr. Public Dental Health Clerk, all the details of the rest of my idle, unoccupied, unemployed day.

But for anyone else out there wondering what payment there is for a job like mine, I will let you in on what happened in the next hour, as I was toweling off Lydah, wiping her tears as she snuggled in my lap. After working to convince her that she could actually stop crying, that I wasn't mad anymore, and that everything was just peachy (pun intended), I said, “Lydah, is it okay if I cry now too?”

She sat straight up and looked at me and said, “No Mommy. You can't cry. Big people don't cry. Only little people can do that.” Then she hesitated and said, “Well, Daddy can cry. But not you.”

We giggled together as I pretended to boo-hoo like a Big Bad Daddy, but I think my two-year-old hit on some truth. We mothers are irreplaceable. Indestructible. Heroic. If Mommy breaks down, the very core of the household is shaken. The little ones will question the worth of their lives. Even the Daddy will be lost in this world of diapers, blankies, and washing machines.

Unemployed? Not at all. I may not have the official document to prove it, but I hold the powerful, world-shaping position of Mommy.

Preferring Death over War

"A warlike people who think life is not worth living if one cannot bear arms. They prefer death to peace, others prefer death to war." - Blaise Pascal

Will historians judge America as a nation which "prefers death to peace?" I cannot help but think that they will. It is time we admit that the other nations judge us correctly -- we are a militant people who take delight in fighting our "splendid little wars."

I, for one, prefer death to war. My rationale for such a stance is rooted in the resurrection. When I see my life as a vapor, a mist and look ahead to the day when the lion and the lamb will lay down beside one another, I renounce violence in all of its forms and prefer suffering over inflicting pain on the Other.

America, you ask me to make you a god, to swear my allegiance to you and your violent ways. You demand that I demonize my enemy and desensitize my conscience. You mask the destruction of innocent children as "collateral damage." You insist on another nation's "freedom" at gunpoint. You ask me to deny my Master who taught me that death is preferable to war. You ask me to take the life of one who bears the image of our maker and call it "patriotism." You idolize those who participate in such violence as "heroes."

Well, I will not play your game. I will not allow you to define my values. I serve a different God. I will not pledge allegiance to your flag; I will pledge my allegiance to the Lamb Who Was Slain -- the One who moves the stars in the skies and makes the mountains quake.

I pledge my allegiance to unconditional, eternal shalom which was from the beginning and shall be forevermore -- the love within the Trinity which never coerces, never destroys, and always invites.

Ethics of Habit

I'm reading an excellent book recommended to be by a former professor and friend. It is called "Improvisation: The Drama of Christian Ethics." In it, Samuel Wells argues, among other things, that virtue is first and foremost not a matter of learning to follow "the rules," but of inhabiting a story and learning to live in consistency with that story. Christian ethics are to be completely unique from the ethics of the world because we inhabit a narrative which is taught and guarded by the church alone.

In order to learn to inhabit the story properly, we must undergo training just as any athlete or solder or academic must go through training in order to excel at their objective. This training is long, slow, and arduous; it takes decades, not minutes. To illustrate this Wells shares this story:

"One day in the late 1950's, in an Edinburgh hospital, a child died tragically on an operating table. Later that week, two friends were talking over the sad events. One of the friends expressed sympathy for the surgeon involved, since he had expected an unexpected complication. The other, a colleague of the surgeon, strongly disagreed, in these words:

I think the man is to blame. If anybody had handed me ether instead of chloroform I would have known from the weight that it was the wrong thing. You see, I know the man well. We were students together at Aberdeen, and he could have become one of the finest surgeons in Europe if only he had given his mind to it. But he didn't. He was more interested in golf. So he just used to do enough work to pass his examinations and no more. And that is how he has lived his life -- just enough to get through, but no more; so he has never picked up those seemingly peripheral bits of knowledge that can one day be crucial. The other day in that theater a bit of "peripheral" knowledge was crucial and he didn't have it. But it wasn't the other day that he failed -- it was thirty-nine years ago, when he only gave himself half-heartedly to medicine."

I think this is a profound observation about what it means to live a moral life. It is not about making heroic decisions in the heat of the moment. It is not about figuring out what would be the right thing to do in some hypothetical situation in which two conflicting goods or evils must be weighed. Living the moral life is becoming a certain sort of person out of which moral actions will naturally flow without much thought. It is about establishing habits during the seemingly mundane moments of life -- changing diapers, cooking, cleaning, working, walking, talking -- which form us into a person who can inhabit the story properly.

I confess I have forgotten this. I've lived as though I'm in a sprint instead of a marathon. I want to make this day count.

Saving Words

The Lord has rearranged my life this week. I hit bottom and was in the pit. I couldn't look up anymore and felt overwhelmed. But, thank God, I saw a little Episcopalian chapel, walked in, and prayed the evening prayers with the two priests who were there. As we prayed, I was struck by two verses which have now come to control me:

Psalm 27:13-14 Yet I am confident that I will see the LORD's goodness while I am here in the land of the living. Wait patiently for the LORD. Be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the LORD.

I have no profound theological insight for my blog at this point. I have nothing to offer at all. Except I wish to give witness to the fact that ancient words still speak and that God knows what we need to hear and when we need to hear it. I'm thankful for these simple words which I cling to like a life raft in the middle of the stormy sea.

Letter Concerning Evangelism

Recently on a Facebook thread I made the accusation that many evangelicals have an "ulterior motive" in many of their friendships. By relating to others simply for the reason of converting them, I believe we cheapen the gospel, salvation, and the mission of Christ. A good friend of mine has challenged me on this view recently and I would like to share an e-mail that I sent to him which attempts to explain more completely my position on evangelism. The conversation has become somewhat heated in the past, but I've tried to keep myself calm as I respond. Here is the letter:

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Thank you, {Friend}. Your letter helps clear up some things. I never mind being questioned and challenged pointedly. That is all part of being called to lead the church in pastoral ministry. I want to be perfectly clear:

1) I still believe in proclaiming the gospel with words and in trying to "convert" non-believers. I preach the gospel each week and make no apology for doing so. Just last weekend I spent my entire time with the Greenville FMY in Potosi, MO. You can ask Greg Groves if he thinks I have misrepresented the gospel after my four sermons to their group. I think I declared it loudly and clearly (an unapologetically).

2) I react negatively to Christians who seem incapable of loving people simply for the sake of loving them. Much of the evangelism I was brought up in reduced people to "projects." Salvation is diluted into a formula which says, at it's heart, "If you want to get your butt into heaven, then you need to pray this prayer" (aka "say the magic words"). My soteriology leads me to conclude that this is a far cry from the call to discipleship that Jesus gave.

3) I agree with St. Francis: "Preach the gospel at all times and, if necessary, use words." I think our post-Enlightenment, modernistic culture has overvalued propositional statements and the verbal communication of those statements almost to the point that "evangelism," when boiled down to its basic essence, is merely the insemination of knowledge. This is the ancient gnostic heresy. Instead, I believe the gospel is mysteriously communicated sometimes simply through a helping hand, a warm meal, or a smile. I am sick and tired of the church telling me to damage my relationships with other human beings by guiltily jamming doctrines down their throat when they are not yet ready for it.

4) Evangelism must always answer the question people are asking. If I were to simply tell my alcoholic friends that they must accept a list of orthodox doctrines, pray a prayer, etc., then I would not be answering the question that they are asking. They desire to know how to be free of their addiction and, according to Luke, a physical healing is also a spiritual one. It is the hyper-spiritualized gospel of modern evangelicalism which bifurcates the body from the soul -- a dichotomy that would have been foreign to the authors of the Bible.

5) I do not intend my comments to be mean-spirited, but to simply stir up a conversation about the following questions: "What is the gospel? What is salvation? Is it merely getting into heaven or does it involve individual/societal transformation in the here and now? And by what means do we spread this good news?" {Friend}, I have spent the last three years of my life trying to answer these questions. I have taken graduate courses in missiology and soteriology. I'm not making a flippant, thoughtless accusation. Instead I believe I should call the truth as I see it and I see many modern evangelistic methods as doing more harm than good.

6) I think the main question for you and I to answer is this: "What is salvation?" The answer to that question will largely determine our methods of spreading it.

7) I have never desired to be an apologist for the Democratic party and I would hate to think I could ever alienate someone from Christ because of my political views. I do, however, think that the gospel holds political implications just as John Wesley, B. T. Roberts, and many others from our tradition have maintained.

I could write so much more, but this will serve as a starter for this conversation. In short, I accuse some evangelicals of having an ulterior motive in relationship because that is what I once had in many of my relationships during high school. I think this resulted in damage to the cause of Christ. Do I want my friends to come to know Christ as their personal Lord and Savior? Of course I do! But I do not think that is accomplished by reducing people into projects. Perhaps this clears some things up.

With Love and Respect,
Greg

Danny

Twice in the last two weeks Danny has been found sprawled out on the steps of our church. The first time I found him, I walked up and asked if I could help him with anything. It was immediately obvious to me that he was very, very intoxicated. I tried to help him to his feet, but had to catch him in my arms when he nearly fell over.

How can I describe Danny? He has a face thick with grime. He only has a few teeth remaining. When Danny speaks, he sounds almost inhuman -- more like a machine; it is deep, raspy, and broken. The only part of his body which does not display the ravages of his alcoholism are his eyes -- which remain childish and innocent. In his drunken stupor, Danny showed me his many scars and broken bones. His lower legs have the thickness of a T-ball bat.

After about 15 minutes of conversation, I finally pieced together where Danny lives. As I helped him into my car, I must admit I was concerned about the filth of his clothes and the stench of his body infecting my passenger's seat. What a stupid thing to be worried about!

In a few minutes, we were in his measly little apartment. It was a dark, musty single room with a mattress in one corner and a toilet in the other. Fast food wrappers where interspersed on the floor with empty liquor bottles. Danny instructed me to never take a bath while being drunk 'cause you could drown yourself. "Always take a shower!" he warned me through his intoxication. He constantly repeated nonsensical things like "I'm your best friend, not your worst enemy" and "I went through the windshield when I hit that man on the street... it's ironic, man, ironic!"

I don't know quite what to think about this encounter. I'm still processing what I ought to learn from Danny. For now I offer these initial thoughts:

1) I hate alcohol and what it does to people. I understand the impulse of our forefathers to advocate for prohibition (even though it failed miserably).

2) I don't really know what salvation would look like for Danny or how to get him there. I don't know how I can even start to help him in a lasting way.

3) I'm temped to judge him, but remember that but for the grace of God, I would be in the very same situation. When I look into Danny's eyes, I see myself without Christ.

4) Danny, for all of his failures, has still been created in the image of God. There is a mystical connection between Danny and Jesus Christ. I meet Jesus in Danny.

5) I'm convinced that Danny is exactly the sort of person that the Free Methodists were created to reach. We have abandoned the Dannys of this world; they need us and we need them.

I'm sure other lessons are yet to be learned from my friend. In the meantime, I pray for him and for his liberation.