At the end of our wedding reception, my wife and I walked past the rows of cheering family and friends, climbed into the getaway car, and drove away, utterly euphoric. On the way to the hotel, all the bickering we had done during the engagement seemed to evaporate. Truly, this was a fresh start. I remember thinking, “Wow, those vows really did change me. I don’t believe we’ll ever argue again.” We would not, in fact, argue again – until four days into our honeymoon.
Face-plant Into the Arms of Jesus
This is a continuation of my previous post. After years of self-induced, spiritual stress, I finally realized God wasn’t the shin-kicking, cosmic scorekeeper I had imagined. For the first time since I was a kid, I knew my salvation was secure, and obedience seemed like an opportunity, rather than an obligation. I was a changed man, a Jesusy flower child, feeling saved all over again.
Did Mel Gibson Kill Jesus?
This is a continuation of my previous post. Two days before the opening of The Passion of the Christ, I sat in front of the television, wide-eyed, anxiously awaiting Diane Sawyer’s prime-time special – an interview with Mel Gibson, the film’s director. At the crux of the interview, Sawyer squinted her eyes, tilted her head, and asked Mel Gibson the big question: “Who killed Jesus? Was it the Jews? The Romans?” I leaned forward, curious what Gibson would say.
Grace in the Pediatric ICU
This is a continuation of my previous post. My seven-month-old nephew, Canaan, was in a semi-comatose state, a victim of an unforeseen intestinal disease. He had been through two emergency surgeries in two days; his small intestine and kidneys were failing. He had 12 machines hooked to his body, two respirators down his throat, and his swollen small intestine was hanging in a bag above his body.
He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not
This is a continuation of my previous post. After four years of living like a legalistic, modern-day Pharisee, I was exhausted, humiliated by failure, and desperate for freedom. Despite my good intentions, I had turned my life into a spiritual circus act. I followed as many rules as possible, only to discover that following the rules can’t make you holy – but rules can make you very aware of your sin (see my previous post).
I Fought the Law, and the Law Won
This is a continuation of my previous post. Three years into college, I had done everything in my power to grow into the man evangelical Christianity wanted me to be. But I could never do enough, and the pressure was making me physically sick and leaving me with a sense of worthlessness.
How to Scare the Hell out of an Insecure Christian
This is a continuation of my previous post. The visiting evangelist paced back and forth, vigorously preaching the fear of the Lord. He had a microphone, but Lord knows he didn’t need one. He shouted at the packed room of petrified charismatics, denouncing a litany of sins – and not just the classic ones. He zeroed in on rebellious attitudes, careless words – and, yes, he even condemned those who engaged in “habitual mas-tur-bation!”
The Religious Party Pooper Gets a Little Crazy
This is a continuation of my previous post. I nervously invited the two, attractive, college freshman girls to join me for lunch. I hardly knew either of them. After they put their yellow trays on the table, I took a deep breath and formally stated my intentions.
Time to Play "Top-That-Testimony!"
This is a continuation of my previous post. I began my journey into rabid, spiritual legalism during my freshman year of undergrad. I didn’t start out aiming to be a stress ulcer in the Body of Christ. I just wanted to get my life right with God, so I began praying that God would send along some friends who would help me live for Him.
Party Pooper for Jesus
This is a continuation of my previous post. I sat in the recliner uncomfortably watching Steve, my college pastor, flip through the channels. At 20-years-old, I was two years into a self-imposed, religious fanaticism that focused more on following rules than following Jesus. And Steve was violating one of the central tenets of personal holiness: thou shalt not watch non-Christian television [insert thunder and lightning here]. But I enjoyed spending time with Steve, so I bore with him as he watched TV (after all, it was his house). However, I did not – no, I could not – look at…
Singleness, Suffering, and Christian Hope
Lisa Wink, a friend from church, was 33-years-old and still wasn’t married in 2007, despite years of waiting for a husband. I probably would have asked her out if I were single, but I was already happily engaged to my 26-year-old fiance. “Josh, I’m serious. I’m at the end of my rope,” she said, standing outside church after a Christmas service. “It’s getting harder to believe I’ll ever get married.”
One-Legged Believer
My wife owns the workout video series P90X, which features a hyper-fit, 50-year-old guy named Tony Horton. Tony has the face of a heavily Botoxed 39-year-old, the body of a 23-year-old, unnaturally black hair, and an annoying habit of referring to his adult audience as “boys and girls.” Go Tony.
Stop Settling for Scraps, Ladies
In my recent article, “Time for a Breakup,” I wrote about the inability of many single men to maturely initiate with women. My theory is that a lot of men have a basic problem: they are already committed, and there’s simply no room for someone else. That is, many of these guys have ongoing, highly involved relationships with (1) their imaginary girlfriends, (2) their moms, or (3) their tag-along “friendgirls.” This article evoked more of a reader response that anything I have written up until this point, especially regarding my point about unhealthy, “friendgirl” relationships between men and women. Though…
Digging for a Speck and Finding a Plank
Once in a blue moon, I end up in regular, close proximity to someone with a unique combination of characteristics which painfully grate on my nerves. Â Sometimes, these are people with whom I do my best to keep a distance; but other times, these are friends or family whom I welcome into my life with open arms, but clenched fists.
Time for a Breakup
I live in a metropolitan area where the women outnumber the men by something like two to one. This is bad news for women who aspire to one day be married. The worst part is that so many of the single, heterosexual guys here don’t even appear to be trying that hard. Call me old-fashioned, but I believe it’s the man’s job to initiate when it comes to women – to make eye contact, to introduce himself, to ask a lady out, to plan a nice date, to go in for the first kiss, and so on.
Joshua Rogers 