James Stayed.

Once, for a class in college, I had to look up my family tree. It wasn’t that easy, because (a) though actually in existence (surprise!), the internet was largely unavailable to a “mere” undergraduate student like me and (b) there are some decided gaps in my ancestry. For one thing, many of my ancestors came from rural North Carolina, and records were scant (my great-grandfather was murdered, which someday I’ll write a song about, but that’s another story. Literally.)

One thread of my ancestors, however, was easy to find. I actually traced our arrival in the colonies(!) to somewhere in the late 1600s. From that point on, my ancestors were actually pretty active in the birth of our country. It was pretty cool to see, but one thing stood out. Though our family did a lot of really impactful things, my direct ancestors weren’t always the ones pulling the trigger, or signing the document, or meeting the President. Most of the time, it seemed like it was a brother. My direct ancestor was at home on the farm while the famous older or younger brother was out changing the direction of this young country…


Some friends of mine come over every other week or so to study the bible. This year we spent a lot of time in the book of James, and something struck me early on in the discussion. James, as best we can tell, was the brother of Jesus, and though he wasn’t a follower of Jesus while he was alive, somewhere after the resurrection James came to believe, and eventually became the leader of the church in Jerusalem. In the book of Acts, we see James’ significance in chapter 15, where Paul and Barnabas come to report on their activities around rest of the region.

“The whole assembly kept silence, and listened to Barnabas and Paul as they told of all the signs and wonders that God had done through them among the Gentiles. After they finished speaking, James replied…”

According to the setting here, James has authority. Because of where he speaks (after the report), his words matter (and we see later that they actually do).

Anyway, I started thinking a lot about James, especially compared to Paul, Peter, and even Barnabas:

  • Paul (and Barnabas) travel the Mediterranean, “bringing the light” to the Gentiles (and writing what becomes much of the New Testament)
  • Peter is given the keys to the Kingdom by Jesus, eventually ends up in Rome, becomes the first “Pope” and is martyred.

But you know what James did?

James stayed behind.

He stayed behind, and he became a pastor to this little splinter group of Jewish folks who believed that Jesus was the Messiah, and that something amazing had bloomed into the world. He taught them, encouraged them, warned them, and protected them as best he could.

Mostly in obscurity, for even though at least one biblical scholar called James “The true first Pope” (by virtue of his stature and authority in Jerusalem as shown in Acts 15), James is largely unknown by people today.

While Paul got top billing (and let’s be clear, a whole lot of abuse as well), James quietly, obscurely led the Jerusalem church—the first mother church—through persecution and poverty.

Sometimes, I think about James, and I think about my ancestors (the Brevards, by the way: look them up, they were pretty major players in Revolutionary War-era North Carolina), and I think about myself.

The fact is, I like it when my friends go out and do big things. I like feeling a part of their success, like my behind the scenes contributions have somehow made a difference in their work. That I helped.

But you know what?

Sometimes, I think I need to step out too.

Ultimately, I’m glad James stayed in Jerusalem. He had to. Someone had to. And eventually a little piece of his story got told, in five short chapters, included right between Paul’s letters and Peter’s in the Bible.

I don’t want to be in the Bible.

But sometimes I think I should think about “leaving Jerusalem” as well.

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Yes, yes, yes.

I get this, at a very deep level. This is how I approach music.

“Either you are the music or you’re not. There are a lot of people that want to do what I do, but what I do is about humility and righteousness and understanding, because music is precious. I know it’s just rock and roll, but there are moments in there. There really are and you can’t miss them. It’s got to be soulful, it’s got to speak to you, it’s got to twist your little heart, and you have to be turned on.” – Andy Johns, Producer, in September 2010 Guitar Player (see credits here)

What Goes On…

When I moved to “the big city”, one of the first things that was so shocking to me was how visible and accessible everyone’s home life was. Walking down practically any city street, you are maybe 10 feet away from someone’s living room, and their style — nouveau frat boy to OCD modernist — was on display for everyone to see. For years, frankly, I envied the clean lines and “just so” placement of people’s living rooms, their oh-so-hip furniture and general tidiness.

Over the years, I began to form stories in my mind about what happened inside those nifty spaces. “Surely,” I reasoned, “those folks are the most hip, gentle, intelligent people on the planet; surely the clean lines of their furniture match the nifty efficiency of their lives.” I could see a married couple on the couch, looking up from their copies of The Atlantic and the New York Times to debate the spiritual ramifications of post-modern literary theory while sipping cappuccinos. I saw children getting up after only 3 gentle beeps of a clever alarm clock (probably designed in Sweden), silently but quickly eating their healthy breakfast before jaunting off to a day of classical education.

Now, I like good design. Nothing major (though I do have a subscription to this, lol), just an appreciation for what goes in my living space. After saving for years, my wife and I have finally been able to put “that” kind of furniture in our house; to have “that” kind of kitchen. Though the furniture is still arriving and being unpacked, it is neat and tidy (and some of it, in fact, I believe is designed in Sweden). In fact, our house is pretty darn comfortable to be in, and I think communicates what we like about space, about art, and about life.

But guess what?

+ Parents still oversleep in this house, and have to rush around getting ready for work;
+ Kids need to be practically shoved out of bed in the morning to get ready for school;
+ Dust accumulates everywhere practically every two minutes!
+ Dinners get overcooked;
+ Homework gets struggled through…

Part of me is a little let down: having a comfortable couch doesn’t re-make your life — but part of me also realizes that all of this probably went on behind those peoples’ doors as well.


Okay, so yeah, I’m 41.

I never thought I’d be have a mid-life crisis; I always considered it so cliché. However, the truth is hard: just you try to be a relevant musician in his forties!

I’ve been struggling and wrestling with this concept of my age for at least a year now. I seemed to sneak through the actual birthday relatively unchanged, but the nagging feeling of “growing up” has been gaining power and momentum ever since, and the whispers are now beginning to become more assertive and audible.

So, yes, I’ve been having my share of “existential crises”: questions of meaning, activities, “could haves” versus “should haves” and so on and so on. I won’t bore any of you with the details (at least right now – that will happen another time over coffee or beer), but a few days ago, an encouraging thought peaked through the storm clouds:

My thirties were pretty good.

You see, I never really had a vocation or a calling until I hit 29. My twenties were pretty much a wasteland of wandering uncertainties and undemanding ambitions. However, by the time I hit 30 I’d discovered (or rather, been called) into this vocation called “ministry”, and I set off down the path. That decade was filled with: two children; two trips to Europe for ministry; a church plant; two tours around the country for ministry and music; awesome times in possibly the best city in the country (sorry NYC); intellectual curiosities and spiritual revelations; satisfaction and hunger; great vacations; some crisis; grace and forgiveness.

I’ve been running now for 10 years. It’s tempting to think that “it’s over”, but I need to remind myself that if all of that happened in the ten years–that I went from meandering to relatively focused, that I played a lot of music, grew my family up–that a lot more can happen in the next ten.

Here’s hoping.

A new decade.

A “Non-Update”

Haven’t posted here in a while; I’ve been processing through so many things.

By nature, I like revolution over evolution. My idea of change is an abrupt rupture. “Break it or leave it.”

I also function in three-year seasons. Any intelligent person could see it in my resume. I get restless, and I want to try something new. It’s a function of a few things, I think:

  1. My restless nature
  2. My hunger for new things
  3. My pleasure in bringing sustainable order to chaos
  4. My resistance to deep community

So I’ve been here for 3 years, and the urge is simmering, boiling and rising. I look around me, and see both evolutionary and revolutionary change. The consequences for this now are so much larger, as I have kids who are rooted and grounded, with friends of their own, but I am also a child of Abraham, following a God who calls us to leave our homes and follow him.

As far as I can see, I have one of three paths in front of me (always leave room for more, though, YHWH likes to surprise):

  • Stay and grow through this job, go deeper into community, and enjoy watching my children grow up;
  • Cut the cord and step into a more challenging leadership role (that I am simultaneously confident in and terrified of); OR
  • Cut the cord, trade in my ministry toys, and go play somewhere else.

I have been in vocational ministry for 10 years. Essentially, I have been doing the same job, though largely through passion and choice. Still, the same job?

Isn’t it time to grow? Time to stretch muscle and sinew? I’m wrestle with the fact that maybe my malaise in life has been a result of not aspiring high enough, not risking enough, rather than too much. After all, I’m not aspiring to anything that people haven’t told me before that I was capable of.

One thing is for sure; something is coming; always is…