An open poem to survivors: hope has a name

Above the fray.

Above the screaming.

Above the hurt, the fear, the unknown, the uncontrollable, the unattainable, the shame, the injustice, the loneliness, the brokenness, the pain, the shame, the voicelessness, the powerlessness, the rage and the outrage, the frustration, the desperation.

*HOPE*

has a name.

One name above all names.

It’s not a vote or a man.

Not a woman or a stand.

Not a charge.

Not a time.

*HOPE*

Has a name.

A name above all names.

A word.

THE word.

One that raises the dead and heals the wounds and salves the infections and opens the eyes and stops the bleeding and calms the seas.

*HOPE*

Has a name.

One name.

One.

Name.

JESUS.

On the Opioid Crisis and the Church: A National Emergency for Us All*

* Full article published in More to Life Magazine.


Tracy* sat on the bed in front of me, her eyes wild and darting around the room. She looked a mess, her long dark hair in dingy kinks and knots. Sunken brown eyes and a pock-marked face made her look more like forty than the twenty-something she was.

Most disturbing of all was the way she twisted and squirmed in the bed, as if fighting invisible cords threatening to tie her down.

Indeed, she was fighting something.

Before she was admitted to the hospital unit where I work, Tracy had been using over $1,000 a week of heroin, and ways she told us she’d been paying for it were unspeakable. As nurses, physicians and therapists, we were helpless in the fight to keep her pain manageable, not to mention treat the raging infection that caused her admission in the first place.

One might assume Tracy’s condition extreme, but hospitals are overflowing with opioid addicts like her whose hearts—literally and figuratively—are being destroyed.

Occasionally, we hear about stories like hers in the news. We catch a headline about a dozen people overdosing outside a local shelter. The evening news reports yet another city adopting a needle exchange program because if communities can’t control the drug use, maybe they can at least save an addict from contracting Hepatitis C or HIV or both.

What we don’t hear about so much is where the church is in the midst of the opioid crisis...click here to read the full story in More to Life Magazine.


You keep using that word…

You know the meme. (If you don’t, go watch The Princess Bride. Immediately.)


The word in question is Hosanna.

Folks all across the world are singing it this Palm Sunday morning, just as the people in Jerusalem were 2000 years ago when Jesus rode in triumphantly to Jerusalem on a donkey.

But back then, what they were shouting wasn’t a praise. 

It was a plea.

In a Palm Sunday message by John Piper, he explains:
“Our English word “hosanna” comes from a Greek word “hosanna” which comes from a Hebrew phrase hoshiya na.

And that Hebrew phrase is found one solitary place in the whole Old Testament, Psalm 118:25, where it means, ‘Save, please!’ It is a cry to God for help…’Help, save me . . . Hoshiya na!'”

If 2016 taught us anything, it’s that the whole world is crying, “Save me!”

The whole world is exhausted and broken and begging…

Save us.

Save me.

Hoshiya na.

Interesting that the remaining verses in Psalm 118 are spent praising the Lord and His name, thanking Him.

Anne Lamont writes,

Here are the two best prayers I know: ‘Help me, help me, help me,’ and ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’ 

Two thousand years ago, palm leaves were a war cry, of sorts. Palm branches represented victory, a claiming of triumph, of peace.

Problem was, victory didn’t come in the way the people then expected it to back then.

Victory doesn’t come for us as we expect it to today, either, does it?

The victory, the triumph, of Palm Sunday isn’t that we will be saved from our worldly and temporary troubles. The triumph is that we are saved eternally and in spite of them.

In spite of our brokenness, He heals our hearts.

In spite of our sin, He forgives us.

In spite of our loneliness, He is with us.

In spite of our distrust, He comes through.

In spite of our self-indulgence, He fills us.

In spite of our pain, He comforts us.

In spite of our ugliest, nastiest, darkest places, He makes us new.

Don’t expect horses and chariots, politicians and riches today, either. In this world, we will always have trouble.

In this world, we will always have reason to cry hoshiya na

But oh, the glory when we cry hoshiya na and He comforts and fills and befriends and heals and forgives…oh the glory when we can thank Him and praise Him and wave our palm branches of hope high, because salvation is in who He is and what He did on the cross and the fact that He is alive. Now. And forever. 

Claim that, dear friends.

Hoshiya na, indeed.


“He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not…But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed.” Isaiah 53:1-6