Author Archives: Gray Rinehart

Not Very Christian of Me

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Confession can be good for the soul. Will you take my confession?

I confess that I would like — in the sense of taking perverse enjoyment — to kill a man. Two men, in fact. Or, possibly better yet, to maim them: beat them to bloody pulps and leave them to contemplate their crimes in as much pain as I could inflict.

Not very Christian of me, I know.

Here’s what I wrote about one of the base-born whom I would like to destroy: a child molester who has never been called to account.

I know of a case where a particular brand of Calvinism led an otherwise upstanding Christian woman to discount her middle-school molestation by a college dropout (and purportedly good, strong Christian) as “God’s will.” They were, she claimed, “in love”—and while it’s true that Scripture tells us love covers a multitude of sins (1 Peter 4:8, perhaps alluding to Proverbs 10:12), we might debate whether it covers what would get one party on a sex offenders’ register. As it was, neither that victim nor another I learned of later were willing to call the perpetrator to account; and hearsay, alas, is insufficient to interest law enforcement.

And here, I confess how much I would like to wound him and another abusive fiend:

As one who harbors a certain amount of unforgiveness in his heart—truthfully, a significant amount, particularly toward men who have abused women I love—this part of the Lord’s Prayer [i.e., “forgive us … as we forgive”] gives me pause. These men have never asked for forgiveness, which would force my hand and put the onus on me to live up to Jesus’s instruction to forgive numerous times (Matthew 18:21-2), and I expect they never will: My anger toward them is all internal. These men did not sin directly against me, but nonetheless all I feel for them is marginally controlled fury. As much as I remind myself that the Lord claimed the right of vengeance (Romans 12:19, after Deuteronomy 32:35), part of me would dearly love it if I could be, to corrupt St. Francis of Assisi’s prayer, made an instrument of the Lord’s wrath.

How I wish the Lord would change my heart — cool the burning rage, soothe the intolerable pain, or (even better!) excise the cancerous memory — so I can go through my days without wishing for the opportunity to swing a baseball bat, a tire iron, or some even more dangerous weapon at their smug, self-satisfied faces.

Anyway, that’s my confession.

rage
(Image: “Rage,” by istolethetv, on Flickr under Creative Commons.)

From time to time, I see a post on social media along the lines of “the only thing keeping me from killing someone is not wanting to go to jail,” and I can relate to that — but avoiding jail isn’t the only thing that stays my hand. I’ve been told that neither of them are worth it, and I see the wisdom in that. But, primarily, I want to be better than either of them can ever hope to be. But sometimes that’s not as satisfying as I might wish. I would settle for selective amnesia, by which I might evict all thought of them from my head.

How about you? Is there anyone you wish you could injure, or kill, or visit with some other form of vengeance? I’m genuinely curious if anyone else would admit, would confess, to the same deadly desire.

___

P.S. Believe it or not, those passages of confession are from A Church More Like Christ. It’s a short book, and thankfully has more in it than just me railing against abusers.

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Unwanted Epiphanies

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Today is Epiphany, when we Christians celebrate the wise men visiting the infant Jesus.

An epiphany, in more general terms of course, is some sudden insight, some moment of revelation, some instant of burgeoning wisdom.

And sometimes, epiphanies suck.


(Image: “Epiphany,” by Beck3D, on DeviantArt under Creative Commons.)

Discovering unwanted, unimagined, heartbreaking facts, after which we can never return to that state of innocence, of blissful ignorance we previously enjoyed — those epiphanies can be soul-crushing. The pain, the bitterness, lingers.

Maybe on this day we can be more like the wise men, who saw a good sign and reckoned it for what it was, and then fitted out their caravan and sallied forth.

Hopefully what we find will bring more joy than pain, more happiness than hardship. And hopefully it will be enough to comfort us, and maybe to heal us, when unwanted epiphanies come our way.

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So Much Hatred Everywhere

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Reading so much vitriolic rhetoric over the past few days, I ginned up this little verse and posted it to my main social media accounts today:

So much hatred everywhere
On my left and on my right
But I won’t surrender to despair
Or give up in the fight
To support and do the good I can
Even if my good may not be great
And to try to be a better man
Without giving in to hate

It’s nothing much, but it reflects how I feel.

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Social Media Proliferation … and, Bridging the Gap

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So, how many social media sites are you on these days?

I ask because I’ve been watching with some amusement the mass exodus from X/Twitter to Bluesky. A great many folks on Facebook have announced their transition from the one with the blue bird logo to the one with the blue butterfly logo, often with snarky commentary about Mr. Musk’s management of the former and/or the results of recent election. (Alas, some of the commentary is more hateful than snarky.)

I’m still on X/Twitter, but the other day I set up a Bluesky account to see what it’s all about. As my first post, I submitted some verse:

Bluesky Beckoning

I see blue sky outside my window
Behind the few remaining leaves
Shaking as the autumn wind blows
And the smiling sun deceives me
Into thinking that it’s warm out
Despite the trees becoming bare–
Still, I’ll go stumbling down the scenic route
In the invigorating air

This makes the sixth social media site I’m on, which is probably three too many. In rough order of how much time I spend on them, I’m on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, LinkedIn, MeWe, and Bluesky. I was on Google+ while it lasted, though I didn’t use it much, and still have a Gab account which I haven’t looked at in ages. That’s in addition to bulletin boards like Baen’s Bar and Discord; sites that are considered social media but I don’t use as such, like YouTube; and things I’m not sure how to categorize, like Substack. Imagine if I were also on TikTok and Threads and Reddit and Snapchat and Pinterest and Tumblr and … what did I miss? I’m sure I missed some.

It makes me long for a treaty on the nonproliferation of social media.

Social Media Icons With Paint Splash Effect
(Image: “Social Media Icons With Paint Splash Effect,” by Lewis Ogden, on Flickr under Creative Commons.)

Which brings me back to the X/Twitter-to-Bluesky exodus.

From what I’ve seen, the majority of people posting about moving completely from one site to the other seem wistful, as if remembering X/Twitter as some idyllic playground where they waltzed carefree among sweet-smelling flowers of approval and likemindedness. And perhaps for them it was just so! Now that others have gained verbal ground on them, though, with arguments they consider distasteful and attitudes and opinions of which they disapprove, they have packed up their toys and moved to another playground.

Now, I’m all for spending time with friendly people rather than enduring hostility. But that Bluesky playground has its own unsavoriness. Much of the posting — and this may be because it’s still so new to so many people — expresses relief that they found a new playground, albeit often with no small amount of disdain for those who would choose to stay behind. Some of the sneering and condescension is amusing, though not when it seems to slide from simple dislike into snobbery and hatefulness.

I don’t know how comfortable all the Bluesky immigrants should be. One day, something may spark an exodus from Bluesky to some new platform yet to be imagined. Sites come and go — MySpace, anyone? — and some people will always be looking for the next, better thing.

I expect the end result will be more societal fragmentation, as the echo chambers resound in chorus and the political bubbles thicken and calcify by us-versus-them rhetoric, rather than minds meeting in ways that help us understand one another — even if we choose not to appreciate one another. But because I can be a glutton for punishment and believe that bridging gaps between people is important, I will stand in the middle, dipping my toes into each pond now and again, ready to engage with anyone on either side who is willing to discuss, debate, or even argue in good faith and civility.

Let me know if you’d like to stand with me.

___

For other musings and oddball ideas, see
– My latest release, also with some gap-bridging implications, A Church More Like Christ
– My other recent release! Elements of War
– My Amazon Page or Bandcamp Page, or subscribe to my newsletter

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You – Yes, YOU – Are Salt and Light

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Whoever you are, wherever you are, as you read this, I believe you are the salt of the earth and you are the light of the world, as Jesus told his followers they were two-thousand-some years ago.

If you’re not familiar with what Jesus said about salt and light, here’s a paraphrase from the Gospel of Matthew, chapter five, the Sermon on the Mount:

You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt has lost its saltiness, how will it be made salty again? It is then good for nothing but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot.

You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden, nor do we light a candle and put it under a basket, but on a candlestick so it lights everyone in the house. So let your light shine before men that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.

To be considered salt is to be both useful and valuable. In the ancient world, salt was extremely important: not just as a flavoring but as a preservative and even as currency (the word “salary” derives from salt). A few years ago, in fact, I wrote a trio of blog posts about salt in which I examined such things as how just the right amount of salt is needed and “salty” language and even how “Immigrants Are Like Salt”.

And to be the light of the world is not only to be useful but to be, quite literally, illuminating.

I believe that you, whether you are of any faith — Christian or Jewish or Muslim or Buddhist or Shinto or Taoist or what-have-you — or no faith, are salt and light. Yes, whether you are a theist or an atheist, whether you are devout or agnostic, you are — not “might be,” not “ought to be,” but are — salt and light at least to some degree.

Why do I think that? Because

Jesus told his listeners that they were — and, by extension, we are — the salt of the Earth and the light of the world, and it is worth noting that Christ was not speaking to Christians because no one at the time would have been considered such. We must conclude, then, that everyone, whether a professed believer or a staunch antitheist, is salt that is either savory or has lost its savor; likewise, everyone is a light that is either on a stand or under a basket.*

Salt of the Earth
(Image: “Salt of the Earth,” by David Campbell, on Flickr under Creative Commons.)

It is true that Jesus’s audience was primarily Jewish, but I feel certain some Gentiles who either lived in the area, were passing through as merchants, or were observing the crowd as Roman soldiers might, must have heard what he said. I believe his words were meant for them as well. And while many things in the Hebrew Bible apply only to Jewish people, and many things in the New Testament apply only to professing Christians, this can be true of everyone, for all time.

So I conclude that you, in whatever situation you find yourself in, and wherever you go throughout your life, are salt and light. And so am I. As such, it is up to us whether we will be flavorless and thereby worthless salt, or whether we will be flavorful; and it is up to us whether we will be dim lights or hidden, or whether we will shine brightly on the world around us.

___
*From A Church More Like Christ, now available as an e-book, a trade paperback, or an audiobook.

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Is This Book Right for You?

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My latest nonfiction book, A Church More Like Christ, is now available for pre-order!

Specifically, the Kindle e-book can be pre-ordered, and will be delivered on 3 September. It costs $1.99, which I hope folks will find reasonable.

If you’re wondering whether the book is right for you, the back-cover copy may give you an idea:

A church like Christ would
• Teach like Jesus
• Worship like Jesus
• Pray and live and love like Jesus

Is your church a force for good, a light in the darkness, an outpost of God’s kingdom in the world? Do the wounded find comfort and healing in your church? Do the broken find repair and restoration? Do the vulnerable find help and hope? Does your church offer refuge for the oppressed, a hand up to the beaten-down, and recognition to the unseen? If so, this book may not be for you.

If not—if your church is divided against itself, or focused only on itself, or more judgmental than caring—it may be that the church is not as much like Christ as it could be. A Church More Like Christ can help you examine how Christlike your church is, and give you new ways to think about what it means for a church to live out the faith it practices.

If the church were quicker to comfort than to condemn, quicker to heal rather than harm, quicker to love than to hate, disparage, or ignore, perhaps it would be a greater source of inspiration, strength, and change in people’s lives—and in the world. If so, it would be, in effect, more like Christ.


(A Church More Like Christ graphic courtesy of Stephen Minervino.)

If you decide the book might interest you, by all means pre-order the e-book at this link; or, wait for the paperback to be released on 3 September and order that instead! (It’ll be $7.99, which again I hope folks will find reasonable.)

And if you know anyone else who might be interested, please let them know!

___

For other musings and oddball ideas, see
– My other recent release! Elements of War (paperback)
– My Amazon Page or Bandcamp Page, or subscribe to my newsletter

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New Book, New Cover!

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My new nonfiction book, A Church More Like Christ, will soon be available for pre-order, and here’s the cover! My son-in-law, Stephen Minervino, designed it, and I think he did a fantastic job!

The book is dedicated as follows:

To all who Seek, may you Find—
And may what you find bring you Joy, and Peace


(Front cover of A Church More Like Christ.)

Stay tuned for more details! Meanwhile, if you’re interested, you can check out my last nonfiction offering, Elements of War.

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Ignorance is Bliss Because Smartening is Hard

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I’ve watched a lot of finger-pointing this week as folks on either side of the Olympics opening ceremony brouhaha have become Internet-fueled art historians, art critics, mind readers and apologists. The number of reports available on the subject is overwhelming, and none of us is capable of absorbing and making sense of them all — yet many people are pleased to share what understanding they think they’ve gleaned. (If ever there were a good use case for the automatic aggregators commonly passed off as artificial intelligences, collating and distilling all of that data would be it … except they can’t be trusted because their programmers seem to have inserted curious biases into them.)


(Image: “Knowledge over Ignorance,” by thepixelsmith, on DeviantArt under Creative Commons.)

As the opinions and reference sources (complete with hyperlinks) flew back and forth, often with unnecessary barbs and insults, I thought about how hard it is for us to consider deeply and honestly opposing viewpoints and reportage that contradicts what we think we know. Robert A. Heinlein once wrote that “To stay young requires the unceasing cultivation of the ability to unlearn old falsehoods,” but it ain’t easy. And I was reminded of this passage:

Everyone is familiar with the experience of learning something, believing it to be true, and finding out later it was not quite accurate. Perhaps the difference was in the details—learning that the planet has two north poles, geographic and magnetic, for instance—or perhaps what we learned was false or incomplete, e.g., the characteristics of life at one or both of those poles. We “learned” that the moon was made of green cheese, that Mars had canals, and that the solar system had nine planets; one was nonsense, one supposition, and the third science; but, after the discovery of the tenth planet (at the time “2003 UB313,” now Eris) and then the rejection of it and Pluto as true planets in favor of the “dwarf planet” designation, we now know that all three things we learned were wrong—or, in the last case, premature.

This process—collecting new information, enjoying or enduring new experiences, and reevaluating what we learned—can be uncomfortable, so we may not appreciate it at the time. We may think of it as going through intellectual and emotional growing pains. But when it comes to history, this growth experience can produce mistrust if we put too much stock in what we already learned. We may deride new interpretations as “revisionist history,” forgetting that all history must be subject to revision —literally, “looking again”—as new facts are discovered.

Unfortunately, facts are not always recognizable or readily available. Where facts are obscure or absent, we must interpret, interpolate, and speculate in order to derive anything approaching understanding or discernment. This is a natural process, i.e., inherent to our nature as thinking beings, and we routinely accept an abridged understanding of things that cannot be proved by fact or rationale.

(If you’re interested, that’s from the preface to this book.)

The problem is when we think we know quite well, thank you very much, and how dare you present us with new information or contradictory facts to chip away at the edifice of our understanding? And when different authorities present alternative explanations, how dare you imply that our choice of one over the other was misguided? And so forth, and so on, with our emotions ratcheting higher with every comment.

Sometimes returning to the Garden, to the Age of Innocence, seems all too tempting. But would it be more satisfying? I’m not sure.

___

For other musings and oddball ideas, see
– My Latest Release! Elements of War (paperback)
– My Amazon Page or Bandcamp Page, or subscribe to my newsletter

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Sometimes I Hate My Brain

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(Or, the perils of “worst-case scenario” thinking.)

I’ve been a worst-case scenario thinker most all my life — at least, as far back as I remember thinking about anything. Sometimes it seems better than wearing rosy glasses, if only because I prepare myself mentally for pain or disappointment (sometimes, if I’m lucky), but maybe it would be more pleasant to be an optimist.

Anyway … I noticed a week or two ago that a friend seemed to have dropped off the radar (so to speak), and I immediately jumped to the conclusion that something dire had happened. She didn’t respond to my e-mails or text messages, and after a few more days I went so far as to prowl her Facebook profile and send messages to a few of her relatives to see if they had heard from her.


(Image: “Target Man,” by Nevit Dilmen, on Wikimedia Commons.)

Then, before I heard from her relatives, she replied to my text! Turns out her computer had gone kaput while she was traveling, and other than a little inconvenience all was well.

So why did I envision the worst? Was it just because she and I were working on a project together? No, I seem to do that all the time — and I don’t like it.

I wish I could look at situations — whether something broken, or a miscommunication with someone, or a revelation of perfidy — and see them in the best possible light instead of the worst. I think it might make for a more pleasant life.

What about you?

___

P.S. Even though sometimes my brain goes places I’d rather it not, at other times it actually produces something worthwhile. For such possibly interesting things, see
– My Latest Release! Elements of War (paperback)
– My Amazon Page or Bandcamp Page, or subscribe to my newsletter

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The Hard Work Begins

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On July 5th, 1776, the hard work began in earnest.

The first battles of the Revolutionary War had already been fought, of course — Lexington and Concord was back on April 19th, 1775 — but the unified effort did not begin right away. The Continental Congress approved the move for independence on the 2nd of July, 1776, and signed the Declaration on the 4th, but independence still had to be won. It would not be easy, it would not be free, and the outcome was far from certain.


(Image: “Declaration of Independence,” by John Trumbull (1819), from Wikimedia Commons.)

So, on this July 5th, a question inspired by my 11th grade English teacher, James “Dog” Parker:

To what will you pledge your life, fortune, and sacred honor?

Once we answer that, our hard work begins.

Press on!

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