A Holy Wild

Growing up, I had clear rules with thick lines. I had rules at Mom’s house. Different rules at Dad’s house. I had a couple of church friends, a handful of school friends, and my summer camp friends, who were my best friends. I’d show up and live into whatever role was expected of me.

In church, there was an extremely clear distinction between right and wrong. We learned that if we believed and did what was right, we’d be rewarded. If we disbelieved, or worse, believed and did what was wrong, we’d be kicked to the curb to be picked up with the trash.

When loved moved into our summer camp neighborhood, everything in my world changed. There were no boundaries, no “us and them,” just us. Later, Rumi snuck into the canyon and whispered, “Out beyond ideas of rightdoing and wrongdoing there is a field, I’ll meet you there.”

I think I’m still learning how live in the field that lies in the middle of the neighborhood.

At Samford, I’m Dr. B. I’m Leon to Lennon and Kit. I’m Mr. Craig to Carson, and Pastor Craig to Mickie. To Christine, I will forever be Coach Craig.

I’m not sure where Come and See starts and stops or when it’s supposed to be a Samford thing, or a Scriveners Paper deal. To me, it’s all a big potluck picnic in the field.

This week was a holy wild.

On Sunday night, 12 freshman boys showed up again in our living room. 25 freshman girls came back on Tuesday night. My summer camp sweetheart fed them all. Kristy loves these kids, too, so it’s like Babette’s Feast when they come to the table.

The Sermon on the Mount was our guide, the livable reality of the Gospel, the conversation that began with, “Everyone I know at Samford is a Christian, but no one lives and loves like Jesus.” Both evenings ended with tears of joy in a few and a hunger and thirst for what could be.

On Thursday, after an authentic discussion of loving one another with all the “affections of Christ,” we were led beautifully by my homie, Heather Canup, to consider a Theology of the Ordinary, an idea that is so foreign to my crew, who are inundated with the temptation and expectation of being anything but ordinary, especially in their faith.

Please don’t tell the Dean, but the classes ended with my students coming to the table, taking communion, and huddling up to pray for each other.

On Wednesday night, St. Edward got baptized.

St. Edward is a freshman at Samford. He came to play baseball, and when he arrived in the fall, he ended up in my classroom.

In class, we talk about identity a bunch. We talk about who we are and whose we are. One morning, I was making the point that before we are anything else, we are the beloved of God, we are perfectly perfect, we are saints. Edward happened to be sitting in front of me, and I grabbed his chair and slung it into the center of the room. “This is not ‘Eddie’ as his teammates call him. This is not Edward the freshman, or Edward the sinner. This is Edward the Saint.” Shaking him with great joy, I introduced him to the class, “Hey, everybody, meet St. Edward!” He blushed like crazy while most of the kids laughed nervously.

A couple of weeks ago, I got a text from a number I didn’t recognize. When I opened the text, it read, “Dr. B., it’s Saint Edward.” That was it. That was all it said. That was enough on so many levels.

I was so curious about what was coming next.

Nothing came.

I kept looking at my phone. Radio silence. I began to get slightly nervous, so I texted him back, 

“Hey man, you good?”

He eventually responded,

“Yessir, I’m good, I’m super grateful for you!! Just wanted to let you know I’m getting baptized soon I just wanted to say thank you for the role you played in my faith even though I haven’t known you that long!!”

When we showed up for his baptism, we were surrounded by a sea of college students, including the entire Samford baseball team and his girlfriend from back home.

For a minute, Kristy and I were the only adults in the auditorium. Just before things got rolling, three older women from the church slid into the row across from us. One of the gals turned toward us and, pointing toward St. Edward, who was crawling into the baptistry, said, “Is he yours?”

Without hesitation, Kristy and I both said, “Yes. Yes, he is. He’s ours!”

I think Jesus cares about right and wrong. But I think He cares more about you. He cares so much more about reminding you not of what you did, or didn’t do, but what His life and love did and does for you, and in you, and through you. His deepest desire is for you to hear, “Yes. Yes. 

Yes, you are. You are mine.”

Just as you are. Right where you are.

Come and see.