Archives For Drew Colby

To Christ! Cheers!

Jason Micheli —  January 5, 2018 — 1 Comment

I couldn’t have more respect and fondness for my colleague Rev. Drew Colby. He asks great questions, pushes back where he should, and cares deeply about his vocation and preaching office.

He’s also a good writer and savvy theologian. I wanted to share his Christmas sonnets here before 3 Kings Day hits.

Twelve sonnet-esque toasts to our Lord on the Feast of the Incarnation

Preface:

These poems are to be read like toasts, in good cheer. They’re all based on “types” of Christ in the manner of Christological typology–an ancient interpretive tool understanding Christ as the fulfillment of God’s activity throughout salvation history. Christ is the new Adam, the new Isaac, the new Moses, etc. Ideally, these could be read as a part of a feast. Perhaps a 12-course meal on January 5th, the 12th night of Christmas? Each course could start or end with one of these toasts. You’d be sure to have drunk the full breadth of Christmastide–good to the last drop. I’ve never tried that… Maybe next year.

 

1. To Christ the New Adam

 

To Christ the Lord a brand new Adam, he

The Breath of Life into our our dust re-breathed,

To him all laud and honor be assigned,

Humanity’s designer now designed.

Once Adam and his counterpart would walk

The garden every evening for a talk

Til temptation’s taste God’s grace betrayed.

These friends of God were naked and afraid.

This Adam is our ancestor and kin,

But now true human life again begins.

Old Adam’s peace with God, as friend,

Is why this re-cast Adam does descend.

Old Adam’s story, our disgraceful fall.

New Adam’s life, and death, redeems us all.

 

2. To Christ the New Noah

 

To mind, as friendly beasts around Christ stood,

There springs a tale of water, beasts, and wood,

Of Noah called to build for God an ark

As storm clouds gathered, ominous and dark.

The Holy family in a stable hid

As Noah and his family also did.

God tried to wash all fallenness away

From death’s deep wake, to dawn a better day.

God chose to never try the flood again,

And here is where our dear Christ enters in.

For him, the wood: The manger, then the cross.

Baptismal waters wash away our dross.

His Spirit is the dove on Calv’ry perched

The Christ-constructed arc is now the church.

 

3. To Christ the New Isaac

 

To Christ the Lord, a brand new Isaac, he

A shoot from Jesse’s Abrahamic tree.

Old Abe was promised kids at ninety-one,

Young Isaac was his Sarah’s firstborn son.

And he was their beloved pride and joy,

But God asked Abe to sacrifice his boy.

In faithfulness and fear Abe acquiesced

I still can’t see how this was heaven-blessed.

Then God stopped Abe and proved in Isaac’s life

That this is not God’s kind of sacrifice.

The faithful need not sacrifice another

We need not separate a child and mother.

Instead the sacrifice New Isaac gives

Is off’ring his own life so all may live.

 

4. To Christ the New Joseph

 

Imagine Christ the youngest of 12 brothers

His swaddling cloth a coat of many colors.

Eleven brothers did, as Judas will,

Sell Joseph out, a perfect plan, until,

Cast out he finds himself in Pharoah’s court.

The nascent Christ is Joseph, of a sort.

A dreamer, to be sure, but fully wise,

By his own tribal kin likewise despised.

The technicolor curtain to be torn,

To conquer o’er the grave is Christ now born.

Seek solace from this famine-fallowed land.

New Joseph sits enthroned at God’s right hand.

From siblings’ malintented cross of wood.

Came resurrection, God’s intended good.

 

5. To Christ the New Moses

 

To Christ the Lord, a brand new Moses, he

Has come to finally set all people free

To break the chains, the bars, the whip, the rod,

To bring for all earth’s Pharoahs signs that God

Has heard the cries of slaves to greed and might.

He recapitulates Passover night.

In Moses’ basket, Mary lays I AM

Who gives himself to be our Paschal Lamb.

And as in desert wilderness they saw

The gifts of water, manna, and the law

So Christ brings streams of mercy, bread of peace,

And to those held in bondage, sweet release.

As Moses brought commandments from above,

Christ’s new commandment, as his name, is Love.

 

6. To Christ the New David

 

To Christ the Lord, a new King David, he

Has come to rule the world with equity.

From Bethlehem, the Lord’s Davidic home,

Behold he comes to mount his manger throne.

Though Samuel warned a king was a mistake,

As all they do is take and take and take,

The people Israel insisted still

To be like other nations was their will.

Heart-broken over this unfaithful bride,

Their God in perfect patience did provide.

And though King David reigns the Hall of Fame,

This day three Kings bow down at Jesus’ name.

While most kings only take and take some more,

This Christ, new-born, is gracious evermore.

 

7. To Christ the New Ruth

 

To Christ, a recast Ruth, the nearlywed,

We raise a toast as they lay down their head.

Our Christ, like Ruth (Naomi’s foreign friend)

Committed to a promise, without end.

As Ruth was loyal in the midst of grief,

So Christ shows faithfulness, beyond belief.

They both attest, “Where e’er you go, I’ll be,

And, “We will one forever-fam’ly be.”

From boundless fruitful freedom, now enfleshed,

The firstborn of the harvest to be threshed.

To gather in the sheaves of broken dreams,

Our broken, banished-barley souls to glean,

In Christ, a Ruth, to us God self-entrusts

That none can put asunder God and us.

 

8. To Christ the New Jonah

 

To Naughty Nineveh God sent him out.

“You must repent or else,” he was to shout.

But Jonah ran from God and said “No way!”

Aboard a ship he slipped into the spray.

While playing possum, fleeing from the Lord,

His fellow sailors tossed him overboard.

Like Nineveh, our world is sick with sin

But Christ will walk where Jonah fell right in.

Once, Jonah prayed for 3 days in a fish

Then hurled ashore, he granted God’s own wish.

Where Jonah feared, our Christ was thrice as brave:

And for our sake was swallowed by the grave.

To Christ the Lord, a brand new Jonah, see?

Plunged into death he rose to victory.

 

9. To Christ the New Way (Based on writings of the prophet Isaiah)

To Christ the Lord, the Newly-Lighted Way

Isaiah’s glimpse foretold is here today.

In desert exile from the garden, we

Have prayed in shadow bent on feeble knee.

Arise and shine because the Light has come.

The lion and the lamb at last are one.

So walk in light and shout the great Amen.

Our Zion king instructs from Bethlehem.

The good and level road is ready now.

Convert your weapons, dare to share the plow.

Come ruler, president, and governor

And meet your lowly subjects’ comforter.

Trade evil for the Good, do not delay.

For this is Christ’s inauguration day.

 

10. To Mary Bearer of God

 

If Eve is mother to our wanton shame

Then Mary is a mother free from blame

So ponder with me now this “mother mild”

At once both meek and mighty, like her child.

A pregnant teenaged girl true wisdom had

Contemplative but fierce and shocked but glad

Tis she who births our Savior full of grace,

In labor’s pain rebirths the human race.

Her babe is firstborn of creation, true,

Which means, in theory, she’s our mother too.

The Theotokos is her name in Greek

The bearer of the one the wisest seek.

She bears God into life, and so, may we

Be bearers of the Light we long to see.

 

11. To Christ our Sin

 

Let us who know our sin now raise a glass,

To Christ the scapegoat flanked by ox and ass,

Our asses for to save, he takes on skin,

The guiltless bears our guilt, becomes our sin.

By faith, through tears, he downs a poisoned chalice,

His body filled with all our lust and malice.

Who Peter once denied, becomes denial.

The righteous judge endures the time of trial.

Who Judas once betrayed becomes betrayal

Consumes the murderous rage by Cain enabled.

The depths of all our evil, sin, and death,

Is crucified in flesh by holiness.

And can it be? Let all our tongues employ!

The wrath of God has sin in Christ destroyed.

 

12. To Christ the Word Made Flesh (John 1)

 

To Christ the Word made flesh now let us sing

As we behold the poe’try of this thing

This Word was with and was what Wonder wrought

This wondrous Word without which we were naught

Mere mortals mystified by elf on shelf,

This Light now lit is light that lights itself!

The True Light that enlightens everyone

As if there is no shadow, only sun

Unbowed, unbent, unbound by time and space,

From faithful fullness giv’n as grace on grace

He deigns to dine despite those that deny

This life that lives so all of death may die.

So in the name of Light and Word again,

I wish you Merry Christmas, friends. Amen.


Reflections after the Las Vegas Sutherland Springs shooting.

The supposition that policy change according to Caesar’s politics is somehow more powerful or effective than the Church’s politics of prayer and worship of the Crucified Christ, I believe, is exactly what’s wrong with the Church and it’s witness to the wider culture:

We live in a time when tragedies are often remembered by the simple name of a place, like Columbine, Ft. Hood, or Virginia Tech. We mention them in conversation like, “After Columbine, we needed metal detectors at schools;” or “We used to be able to ignore some behaviors; but that was before Virginia Tech.”

Other traumatic events are either less institution-specific or more widespread, so we refer to them by the name of the town in which they took place: Charlottesville, Charleston, Houston, Barcelona, Brussels, and now “Las Vegas.” This is not something reserved to the modern era… remember The Alamo? And for a long time, wars have been memorialized simply by the names of the nations in which they were fought: Vietnam, Korea, Afghanistan, Iraq. But, the depressingly high rate of new place-name-memorials has felt historic to many of us.

Regularly, the news reports casualties of gunfire, war, or natural disasters which can be counted in the dozens, the hundreds, and even, God help us, the thousands. And I’m met with the one-two punch of, on the one hand, shock and grief; and, on the other, numbness and avoidance as I sip my morning coffee calculating how today’s casualties will stack up to yesterday’s.

Was this hurricane bad enough to warrant a benefit concert or telethon?

Were today’s IED casualties enough to warrant a press conference?

Will we find out the motivation of the gunman?

Will legislators feel called (or tempted) to turn this into actionable legislation that will change the tide of disaster response, military engagement, international aid, or gun policy in America? How long until they use it to solidify their re-election)?

How long until writers, bloggers, and pastors come out with their commentaries, and retorts, and soap boxes? (In my case, the answer is about a day, 2 cups of coffee, and 1 beer, then a week of prayer and editing)

Tragedy, trauma, and indescribable suffering are becoming ordinary. Perhaps because more tragedy is being reported more quickly. And, perhaps that is because the 24-hour shit-stream of news and information has us hooked on sensationalism.

Whatever the cause, the effect is that I found the sheer violence of the past month (Harvey-Irma-Maria-Las Vegas) both exhausting and routine.

Of course it’s depressing and sad… but I’m kind of too tired to lament, or think critically. And, it all comes so frequently now, I feel like you and I don’t have time to fully react. So, we take short cuts. We fall back on the modern liturgies of tragedy.

News strikes of tragedy.
We listen to hear just how bad it is, to figure out which part comes next.

If it’s bad enough (and the victims are like us enough) we say/post/tweet something about our thoughts and prayers.

If we don’t want to do that, we say/post/tweet something about how thoughts and prayers aren’t enough, and we want people to act.

If we ourselves want to (appear as if we want to) act, we say what “someone” ought to do:
Often the someone is Trump.

Otherwise, it’s a call for more gun-control.
Or less gun control.
For mental health services.
Or better home training.
For more from FEMA.
For more from Trump.
For a local way to help.
For an organization to which we should donate.

Basically, we virtue signal.

Because, in many cases, we have and/or want virtue! In almost all cases, though, regardless of actual virtue, we do this because it makes us feel better.

The liturgy of tragedy makes us feel better.

And it’s not over.

Next:
If we haven’t already, we blame someone.
Usually Trump.
Or blacks in Chicago.
Or Global Warming.
Or “the gays.”
Sometimes we tell someone we want to do something about this, even after the news-cycle moves on. And sometimes we actually do.
We march.
We protest.
We give.
We read a book.
We recommend a book.
We write blogs.
We engage in hard conversations.
Many of these actions are genuinely good, or at least come from a place of genuine desire for good. And, they probably should not be mocked.

But, here’s my main thesis…

The thing I hate most about the liturgy of tragedy, is that it eclipses the liturgy of life.

The latest tragedy–Las Vegas–the shooting of hundreds of people resulting in a rising death-toll of 50 or more–I learned about it from a Facebook post that said “Take your thoughts and your prayers and shove them up your ass. It’s time for gun control.”

I’m not upset about the call for gun control. I’m not upset that someone used the word ass.

Honestly, I’m upset at the devaluing of thoughts and prayers.

And I can’t believe how ridiculous writing that makes me feel.

But truly, I think this is something that may actually be worth saying. I am convinced of the power of thought and prayer.

I’m not saying I think thoughts and prayers are going to make this all better, or all go away. And I’m not–I mean very much so not– the kind of Christian who typically says, “I believe in the power of prayer,” where they might as well be talking about the power of a rabbit’s foot to ward off evil spirits, or an amber necklace to make their infant less irritating–I mean irritable.

No, I’m not tritely saying, “Prayer will get us through this.”
I’m saying that I think thought and prayer protects us from tragedy every damned day.
Not all of us. Not enough of us. But most of us.

Thought and prayer, particularly in the form of religious life, and even more particularly (in my case) in Christian worship of and devotion to the Way of God in Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit, is the most profound form of anti-terrorism, anti-violence, anti-hate, anti-poverty, anti-death, anti-tragedy, and down-right-anti-evil that humanity has at its disposal. I say this because, when I really think about it, I’m more than confident that, were it not for the church, there would be more gunmen, terrorists, hate groups, homeless, and dead.

In the age of social media and protest encouraging us to #resist and #persist, I don’t want it to be lost on us that the routine liturgy of life which Christians repeat week in and week out in prayer, study, sacrament, and service is resistance and persistence!

Our thoughts and our prayers are what stop us from killing each other!

And, depending on who is reading this, our thoughts and prayers may be what stop us from killing you! The prayer of confession which we pray gives us the gift of forgiveness for little things like lying and cursing which empower us to resist bigger things like cheating on our spouses, burning down our office building, or staging a violent coup.

The story of a garden, and a snake, a flood, and a holy family; of slavery and freedom, of power, and abuse of power, of injustice and righteousness, of God-with-us even in death, and Love raised to Life, it gives us a courage to admit when we are wrong and to find a common bond of humanity even with our most dire enemy.

The sacrament of baptism gives us a community. No, a family, to guide us when we’re out of line, and notice when we’re gone. To call us on our bullshit, and teach us not to be assholes. The sacrament of Eucharist fills even our bodies with grace that was won through non-violent resistance resulting in the death of an innocent victim. It forms us as people, and as a community, centered on a story of a death that ultimately ends all death. And the life of service to which we are sent from that table–it teaches us that care for the other is truer and more important than competition with or even safety from the other.

The church is many things. Including, often, an utter failure.
But the church is also, at some level, holy. And, even in its holiness, it may be that the sum of the church’s holiness is lived out in little more than a long-standing, never-ending liturgy of thoughts and prayers.

Somewhere tonight, the church is why someone no longer owns guns.
Somewhere tonight, the church is why someone is no longer a member of the KKK
Somewhere tonight, the church is why someone has friends outside their race.
Somewhere tonight, the church is why someone who voted for Hillary invited a Trump supporter to coffee.
Somewhere tonight, the church is why a real estate developer refused to construct in a flood zone.
Somewhere tonight, the church is why a real estate developer built affordable housing in the same neighborhood they themselves would be willing to live.
Somewhere tonight, the church is why someone has a roof over their head when their family kicked them out of the house.
Somewhere tonight, the church is why a child of abuse is not destined to become abusive.
Somewhere tonight, the church is why someone was forgiven, and not killed.
Somewhere tonight, the church is why someone was imprisoned, and not killed.
Somewhere tonight, the church is why, in the moment just before someone died from a gunshot wound, they were unafraid.

In a world where the liturgy of tragedy has become all too familiar, still…

Thoughts and Prayers are the liturgy of life.

Thoughts and Prayers are resistance to the liturgy of tragedy.

Thoughts and Prayers are the persistent heartbeat of the church.
Thoughts and Prayers are the church exchanging the way of this world for the mind of Christ.

So, if you want to do something to mourn, to heal, to help, or to avoid becoming the terrorist you and I are all too easily capable of becoming, try some thoughts and prayers. Come to church. We will try it with you.

Because, in the end, the church is not actually why any of those good things happen. Those things happen through the church because of Christ. Because in Christ, Existence and Love took on flesh in Bethlehem and then Galilee happened and then Capernaum. And then Ganesaret. Then Samaria. Then Bethany. Then Jerusalem. Then Golgatha. Then the Garden. Then Emmaus. Then Jerusalem again. Then Galilee again. Then Damascus and Antioch. Then Corinth, and Thesalonica, and Ephesus. Then Jerusalem again. Then Patmos. Then Chalcedon. Then Rome. Then Nicea. Then Syria. Then Avila. Then Asisi. Then England. Then Norwich. Then Wittenberg. Then Oxford. Then Aldersgate. Then Baltimore. Then Birmingham. Then, eventually, in my life, Norfolk, and Richmond, and Williamsburg, and Winchester, and Upperville, and Alexandria, and Springfield, and St. Stephen’s.

Every event, in every place, in every time, is where tragedy has struck, is striking, or will strike. The only thing more definitive than that fact is that in Christ tragedy will not win. And it is to this truth, in honor of the victims of sin and death, that I devote my thoughts and prayers tonight.

Drew Colby

How important are our names? What should we remember about the past? What makes a holy kiss holy? These and more questions on this episode of Strangely Warmed with “special” guest Rev. Drew Colby.

The texts are Exodus 1.8-2.10, Isaiah 51.1-6, Romans 12.1-8, Matthew 16.13-20.

And stay-tuned, this week on Crackers and Grape Juice we have the preeminent Old Testament scholar, Walter Brueggemann, followed by two weeks in a row of David Bentley Hart. Coming up we have New Testament scholar Beverly Gaventa and liberation theologian Ruben Rosario Rodriguez.

And did I mention we also have a conversation with a Christian romance novelist coming up?!

Give us a rating and review!!!

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It’ll make it more likely more strangers and pilgrims will happen upon our meager podcast. ‘Like’ our Facebook Page too. You can find it here.

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If you’re getting this by email, here’s the link. to this episode. Since there’s so many voices in this, I thought I’d post the video too. You can find it here.

In all the commotion of Holy Week, I forgot to push our latest conversation from Crackers and Grape Juice.

In Episode 89 (we’ve been at this almost a year now and we’re nearing #100!), Teer Hardy and I talk with our friend and colleague Drew Colby about racism.

Drew Colby is a UMC elder, pastor, and one of the podcast’s biggest fans. And critics. 

Coming up on the podcast:

Martin Doblmeier of Journey Films. Followed by Robert Jenson and Rod Dreher of Benedict Option fame. Stay tuned and thanks to all of you for your support and feedback. We want this to be as strong an offering as we can make it so give us your thoughts.

You can download the episode and subscribe to future ones in the iTunes store here

We’re breaking the 1K individual downloaders per episode mark. 

Help us reach more people: 

Give us 4 Stars and a good review there in the iTunes store. 

It’s not hard and it makes all the difference. 

It’ll make it more likely more strangers and pilgrims will happen upon our meager podcast. ‘Like’ our Facebook Page too. You can find it here.

Oh, wait, you can find everything and ‘like’ everything via our website.

If you’re getting this by email, here’s the link.