Monday, October 20, 2014

Why Does Life Hurt So Much Sometimes? (Suffering Part 1)

My dream snuffed out again. The 30-plus year wait prolonged for at least one more.

Swept away were my hopes and visions of a much craved celebration with friends and family.

That's right, baseball season came to an abrupt conclusion when the chirpy Royals took four straight from my beloved Orioles.

My suffering as a lifelong and borderline idolatrous Orioles fan continues and I often wonder if my mourning will ever turn to dancing.

That last line was a little over the top. You can even say it may be insensitive and trivialize real suffering.

But it did hurt to see my hometown team go down the way they did.

But it didn't hurt in the same way as so many other bouts with suffering and grief.

Not even close.

While I could begin to craft an endless blog about real experiences and periods of suffering and despair, a post that would look more like a theatrical monologue cleverly crafted so to tug at your heart strings, I'm not sure that would be helpful. I have all-too-often been frustrated by the overdramatization of human experience in efforts to generate intended human responses, or worse, religious encounters and confessions.

But what I can say is that whether it's been conflicted relationships, death of loved ones, financial strain, vocational uncertainty, or bleak personal health diagnosis or the same of family members- even a child diagnosed with a chronic illness- suffering has not escaped me.

That said, I have had more than enough walks in parks and spur of the moment car rides when I have hashed it out with God. Just ask the trees in Goose Creek Park or the steering wheel of my Honda CR-V.

Yes, this youth pastor has had more than one verbal sparring match with the One who made all things. These are the moments when my faith is not so much strongest, but certainly most raw and honest. These are some of my purest, albeit colorful and brash, prayers. And what I love most about these encounters is how God doesn't respond to my rhetoric with ridicule or reason, explanation or false hope. God lets me go, cry, scream, and even accuse God of not responding. God listens and God hears when I can't stop asking, "why does life hurt so much sometimes?"

What we are really talking about when we ask this question is suffering. We are talking about death. And not only being buried kind of death. I read this the other day,

"If death had a Facebook profile its interests would not only be putting people in the grave but also killing their dreams, their loves, their peace, their dignity." (Andrew Root, The Promise of Despair xii).

Death is not only about being six-feet under and in a box. Death also lurks around in the forms of life sucking experiences of sorrow and despair. Death shows up when we feel alone even though we are surrounded by peers in the school cafeteria. Death shows up when a kid is given a sudden nudge in the hallway as a reminder that his or her classmates don't really value who they are. Death shows up when we have more than we can handle with schedules, exams, pressures of academics and athletics, even church, making us feel like we are never doing enough. Death shows up when we read about wars and disease, from Isis to Ebola. Death shows up when kids are diagnosed with both curable and terminal cancer. Death shows up when we lose our jobs and can no longer pay the mounting medical bills or student loans. Death shows up when we fight with parents, children, spouses, or closest friends. Death shows up when our dreams for ______ fail to come true.

Death, yes, also shows up in dying and the loss of loved ones.

You could say death not only has a lot of Facebook interests, but also a lot of friends and followers.

So life hurts sometimes. A lot. And when it does, the tired cliches and Christian catch phrases are no help. At least not for me.

"God let this happen for a reason..."

"God is trying to teach you something through this."

"You just got to pray harder and trust stronger."

"God has a perfect plan."

"God is in control."

There may be some truth to some of this, although I struggle with most if not all of them, but when we are face to face with the monsters of death and despair, in any and all of their ugly forms, religious cliches and photoshopped memes don't offer much hope. They actually dismiss suffering and become toxic distractions. They are like drugs that give us a cheap and false high that pulls us out of real life, even for just a moment, only to be let down when we come out of it.

So what does the Bible have to say about suffering, despair and death? Better, what does the Jesus story tell us about how God responds to the monster of despair and dying we face all too often?

I think the Lazarus story is one of the best places to look in John 11.

"This illness does not lead to death...but so that God can be glorified." Jesus' initial response irks me. I think it bothered the disciples, too. Did God allow the death of a friend to happen for some sort of narcissistic reason to affirm God's insecure status as king of all kings? Doubtful. I wonder if Jesus is merely reminding us that even the worst of suffering God can and often does redeem and birth new life. Jesus may be able, unlike this blogging youth pastor and all my fellow humans, to see both the forrest and the trees.

Still I don't find this particularly helpful and, when I was told my three-year-old daughter has juvenile arthritis, talk of God's glory was not where my brain or heart went.

It probably will never go there.

But I don't doubt that somehow God is and can be glorified in the midst of suffering like this. I just believe God's glory comes not through sadistic divine and predetermined plans but through varied forms of a chaotic and redemptive nevertheless.

"He stayed there two days..." Why the delay? It's no wonder the disciples were confused, but Jesus knew despair is not and would refuse to be the end. While I wish God worked on my clock, God doesn't. But that doesn't mean God is not still working. God is always on the move and especially laboring for the sake of all those who suffer. So while God may appear slow, and frankly you can't convince me otherwise, we trust that while two days of waiting for our own Lazarus deliverance may be long, the third and fourth days are coming. Both the resurrection of Lazarus and the empty tomb of Jesus are reminders of death's great eviction notice. The stench of despair will soon be no more and the world will be delivered and once and for all restored.

"But let us go to him..." Jesus enters into the suffering of others and runs towards those who are caught in death's grip. We are to do and be the same. While we may be tempted to buy bigger rugs, so the hurt and pain can be more easily tucked away, Jesus lifts up the dusty throw and shakes out the grief. God's people are even dared to expose all forms of death and dying as we carry our cross alongside those who lay in the wake of destruction, despair, oppression, conflict, and shattered dreams.

"I am resurrection and life..." The reality is that Lazrus did eventually die, again. I am not sure what would've hurt worse for his sisters, Lazarus' first or second final breath. It probably doesn't matter. What does count is the promise, Jesus is the resurrection and the life. Death is not God's final word. Grave clothes are not our final attire. The stench of decay will eventually be overcome by the fragrance of a feast and the scent of celebration. Life will win out in the end, and not just for Lazarus. And if Jesus is the resurrection, we are to be those who point towards it and practice it as we follow him in a world with more than enough reasons to grieve.

"Jesus began to weep." God is not beyond empathy and feels our sufferings alongside us. God is not immovable and out of touch. As Andrew Root writes, "God knows death from the inside...God works life out of death; God brings possibility out of nothingness." (The Promise of Despair 86). God, much like a good friend or parent who has been there before and yet does not rush towards answers, reasons, or cheap religious cliches, when we are in our darkest hour, Jesus wraps his arm around us and cries with us. It's not right. God knows it's not right. And God refuses to quit acting until all is right and good again.

"I know that you always hear me..." God hears the prayers of suffering people. So while we may find it difficult to pray, Jesus has been praying with and for us and the broken world we inhabit. And when our prayers are raw, honest, are borderline disturbing and more accusatory than filled with gratitude, God hears them, too.

"Unbind him, and let him go." We are called to enter into the suffering of others, weep alongside them, and work towards their deliverance, too. Lazarus will die again, which means the mission of the church is to work towards his unbinding until the return of Christ and the whole world's liberation. The mission of the church is to share this news with the whole world, and sometimes the best way to share the message is not by words or kitschy cliches but to simply shed tears, too. After all, that's what Jesus did.

If I am confident of anything it's this: God does not cause suffering for some sort of sick and twisted plan to teach us a lesson or strengthen our faith. No. God enters into suffering and cries right alongside us, whispering hope and comfort until the day comes when there are no more reasons to weep, mourn, grieve, or lament.

Sometimes the best news to hear, or maybe feel, is that in Jesus God weeps. God cries. That's because God also feels and hears our prayers of pain and anguish.

That's the greatest message of the Lazarus story. It's actually the message of the cross of Christ. Jesus goes to the cross as a reminder that God never, not for one second, runs from human suffering. No. When we are at our darkest hour God dives in and weeps with us, sings alongside of us, and tilts our head upward to a cross and tomb both empty and a promise for resurrection and healing just over the horizon.

That's what keeps me going in the midst of so much suffering. That's what gives me hope and faith when life hurts so badly sometimes. That's what allows me to comfort others in their sorrow, too. A simple message, God is with you. God is here. Jesus, who was crucified and burried, who suffered and died, is the resurrection and the life.

The monsters of death and despair are not the end.

So, why does life hurt so much sometimes?

I don't know.

But it won't hurt forever.

But my longing for a World Series Championship, now that's another story.

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Reverse Mission: Real Mission Partnership Creates Opportunities to Flip the Script of Hospitality and Service

This past summer, we were in the backyard of Marlon and Diana's Guaimaca home when I experienced one of the more precious demonstrations of hospitality. The youth and leaders from our church were invited to lunch in their garden as Marlon and Diana's young son walked by me with his t-shirt curled into a pouch filled with fresh-picked starfruit. With eyes wide and grin even wider, Marlonito approached the table and unfolded the bottom of his shirt as starfruit rolled across and off the foldout tables. Our young host remembered from the previous summer how much his American friends enjoyed picking from their trees and tasting the best of Honduras' produce, so he was more than prepared for our visit this time around.

Hospitality and welcome was offered by the next generation of missional partnership.

Then there was last Monday. The dream had been realized of reversing mission and welcoming our friends from Honduras into our community as we were gathered in my living room. While we were chatting about this growing partnership, my son and daughter desperately wanted to take all of us out and show our guests around their stomping grounds. So like little pilgrims, my son and daughter lead us on one of their favorite adventures, briskly walking about twenty yards ahead of us and towards the creek behind our townhouse.

Noah and Lily had made their way into the woods, briefly out of sight, although their tiny footsteps and voices were sure to be heard in the neighboring town. As Marlon, Alex, and I drew closer we encountered a familiar display of hospitality and welcome. Noah's shirt, much like Marlonito's this past summer, had been curled up and filled to overflowing with gifts. But due to the lack of suburban vegetation, instead of starfruit he delivered walnuts. Noah had gathered as many of these "walnut balls" I recently introduced him and his sister to and handed them out, one-by-one, to his new friends from Honduras. "One for you and one for you and for you," he said to each visitor. Then he showed them how to throw nature's baseballs into the creek, each toss met with a jubilant "yes!"

I froze. I am pretty sure a few tears welled up and trickled out of my eyes. My son and daughter understood partnership. They understood friendship. They understood one of the most basic elements of mission and discipleship: sharing the joys, gifts, resources, and discoveries with one another. Marlonito knows this simple truth quite well, too.

Our children no longer knew Daddy's friends as abstract people. Honduras was no longer somewhere Daddy went every summer an airplane ride away. Honduras and the people who lived there were now their friends and family, too. Actually, my daughter claimed two of them were "her girls."

If I have learned anything from the Honduras Youth-to-Youth Missional partnership it is this: mission must be reversed if ever to become true partnership. If the church desires to move beyond paternalism and less-than dignified attempts to love and serve our neighbors in other parts of the world, we must be willing to extend invitations to our friends in these communities to serve and explore alongside us in our cities, neighborhoods, communities, and churches. We must be willing to return the favor of hosting and become recipients of those who are rarely offered a chance to visit where their American brothers and sisters practice the mission of God and witness of the church.

Real Christian mission must be willing to flip the script and exchange parts if partnership is truly the desired goal. Failure to do so will only further the "us and them" mentality. That's something neither I nor Marlon want for our children. Thanks be to God we have been able to expose them them to something different. I only pray our kids will one day be able to meet.

After all, they seem to understand partnership best.

 

I could write endlessly about our extended weekend together, which is no doubt a highlight of my 12 plus years in youth ministry. But I think the only way to come close to capturing the joy is through selected photos:


Samy, who has liked every youth event on Facebook, finally gets to attend!
Our youth greeting friends from Honduras at airport.

Hanging out with fellow youth leaders from Honduras, Alex (left) and Marlon (right)

Friday Night High School Football Game

Yes, they wanted to see the Rocky Steps

My son thinking he's just another Honduran teenager.

Serving at Broad Street Ministry

Alex sharing that our Souper Bowl Sunday Fundraiser has helped provide meals to over 350 families during a major drought this past August.

Participating in worship and signing a two-year covenant of partnership

Hanging out at my house

Apple picking at Highland Orchards

Click "Honduras Tab" for other related posts, most notably "Declaration of Interdependence" and "The Kingdom of God is Like Mango Trees in Guaimaca."

Monday, September 22, 2014

Silly Questions of Faith: The Fault in Our Stars and Life According to Trey Part 3

There's a scene in The Fault in Our Stars when Hazel Grace is confronted by Van Houten, her once-beloved author now exposed drunk cynic.  Hazel Grace ventured with Gus to Amsterdam in pursuit of what she perceived to be an unfinished novel with too many questions left unanswered.  As they storm out of Van Houten's disheveled apartment, enraged and disappointed by their "hero's" crass and less-than-hospitable behavior, the author leaves them with a parting retort:
"Have you ever stopped to ask yourself why you care so much about the answers to your silly questions?"
Silly questions? These questions had become the very rhythm of her cancer-laden life and now they were being labeled "silly."

I wonder if this is how many youth feel when their young minds rattle off question after question in a world not yet done with claims of certainty. I fear youth may balk at asking questions, faith, life, death, and despair questions, assuming they will be received by the adults in their life as silly.

So they write off church as Hazel Grace wrote off the one who wrote her most cherished story.

So as I prepared to write a youth talk for this past Sunday, I returned to a short story I wrote for youth this past May. Youth resonated with the brief narrative, who had quote a few silly questions of his own, so I added the chapter below.

I pray youth, who may be a lot like Hazel Grace, would always know even their silliest questions are welcome in the church.  Actually, these questions are not silly at all.  They are markers of faith.

Trey, Cora, and Questions of Faith: Life According to Trey Part 3 

Trey was entering his second year of high school.  His first year was not so bad, although he could've done without the absurd amounts of homework his history teacher, Mr. Franklin, had handed out the second semester.

His parents didn't seem to agree.

They felt Trey didn't push himself hard enough, apply himself often enough, and frequently told him he needed to spend more time in the books if he wanted to get into a good school.

"I'm 15," he would remind his parents. "Fifteen!"

The pressures of Trey's freshman year were unexpected and overwhelming.  They only increased his sophomore year.

Track. Academics. Clubs. Piano Lessons (Trey hated the piano).  Choir.

O, yea. church. There was also church and the Second Presbyterian youth group. Trey struggled to fit that in and often had to surrender youth group and time with his friends because of an endless list of other responsibilities that demanded his time and attention.

Yet Treys youth pastor, Hope, often reminded him that church and youth group were not to be one other pressure point. Actually, they were the very people Trey could count on to be there when the pressures were too much.  They wouldnt shun him if he missed a few weeks. 

That was always a breath of fresh air, but still, Trey felt bad he couldn't be as involved as he was over the summer.

And Trey had quite the summer, nothing that surpassed his week-long mission trip with the youth group to Baltimore. That was an experience he would never forget.

How could he? The questions were still wracking his brain.

And so was Cora.  Trey and Cora had struck up quite the friendship.  Cora was also a high school sophomore and was the type of person Trey found intriguing.  She was somewhat mysterious and didn't act as though she had everything figured out.  She wasn't a glass half-empty kind of girl, but certainly didn't think the glass was always full either.

Cora, much like Trey, was a bit of a skeptic and struggled to find her place in the youth group.  That was, until she met Hope, their youth pastor.  Hope and Cora had similar conversations as those Hope had with Trey.  Hope also encouraged her to come along on the summer mission trip.

That's where Cora and Trey met.  More specifically, the two met serving meals at an inner city ministry on Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard.   They spent a few afternoons in conversations with those who had called the streets their homes, most without a job.  These new friends, as Trey liked to call them, broke all kinds of stereotypes about the homeless. 

Sure, there were recovering addicts and others constantly looking for another way to collect disability checks.  Some with more legit explanations than others, of course.

But there were also former college professors in their fifties and sixties who had been let go and unable to find another gig.  There were parents of young kids who ended up on the streets after unexpected medical bills piled up because their employer didn't provide sufficient health insurance, leaving them bankrupt.  There were veterans who had so many traumatic memories that they couldn't hold a job since returning from the horrors of war, some pains inflicted by fellow soldiers who used their rank as a means to assure secrets could be kept far too long. There were even those who had a job, but the cost of rent was too high that not even minimum wage could help them get off the street. Let's not forget the teenagers who were homeless.  The stories were unbearable.  Youth shared about being kicked out of their homes when their moms new boyfriend moved in or fleeing their homes because they couldn't take the violence and abuse any longer.

The stories of Trey's new friends were endless.  The summer mission trip challenged and confronted Trey more than anything ever thrown his way by Mr. Franklin.  The same was true for Cora, which is why they became such good friends and were able to have conversations like the one on the bus on the way home from a day of serving one afternoon.

"Trey, I thought this mission trip was going to teach me a lot about faith, God, and Christianity.  Instead, I feel like everywhere I turn I am just faced with another story of despair," Cora said on the bus back to the retreat center where they were staying.

"You're not alone," Trey agreed. "I was hoping this summer would be an opportunity for me to deepen my faith, maybe even find the answers to the many questions I have had for so long.  But all I have come up with are..."

"....more questions?!" Cora interjected.

"Yes. More questions."  Trey was grateful for Cora.  While many in the youth group seemed more concerned about taking photos and posting to Instagram, Cora was really wrestling with each experience.

Cora pondered, "Yea, where is God when a kids home life is so bad that it would be safer to live on the streets of Baltimore than spend one more night in the midst of so much yelling, screaming, and violence?"

"What about when someone is diagnosed with a form of cancer but can't pay the mounting medical bills?" Trey wondered.

"And then they go bankrupt, leaving them homeless when they recover." Cora added.

"All of this also makes me think about stuff at our school. Like my friend, Chris," Trey began to whisper as though really uncomfortable, "who recently came out as gay to his family. Where is God in the midst of that?"

"Don't get me going on that one," Cora replied back in certainly more than a whisper.

"Easy, Cora."

They went on and on, listing everything from Christians who have been killed for their faith in the Middle East to natural disasters.  They even talked about the ridiculous pressures they face with homework and after school obligations.

People seem to forget we are kids not CEOs! Cora gritted her teeth.

Trey nodded, thinking of his parents reaction to any and all of his complaints about school work.

"Speaking of kids!  Trey knew Cora was on a roll now, so he just listened.  Child refugees! They are fleeing Honduras and Guatemala, without their parents, hoping to find safety in this country because the drug and gang wars have become too much for their parents to bear.  They think it's safer for their young children, even toddlers, to ride a freight train from Central America through Mexico and into Texas, ALONE, versus stay home with their parents. Where is God there? I thought the kingdom of God, like Jesus said, belonged to children?"

Trey chimed in, "Hope has said something before about Jesus being 'good news for the world.' Apparently gospel means good news.  All I see around us lately is bad news.  Is there any good news anymore?"

That's when they realized Hope was on the same bus with them.  Apparently she heard them chatting but didn't want to interrupt.  But this last remark by Trey, she couldn't help but jump in on the conversation.

"That's it," Hope whispered.

Startled, they turned to see Hope with a bit of a grin.

"That's what?" Trey asked.

"That's the point of all this mess we call Christianity.  That's the point of this trip to Baltimore.  That's the point of following Jesus," Hope shared.

"Gonna have to be a little more specific, Hope." Cora was obviously frustrated.

"Gospel means good news, Hope said. Because we are to be those who ask the question, 'what could, would, and should good news look like in all those places and experiences you just mentioned.  What does good news look like to gay youth or homeless cancer survivors?  What does good news look like to Christians in Iraq, whose lives are in jeopardy every day?  What does good news look like to families who have lost everything to a tornado, tsunami, hurricane, or fire? What does good news look like to the thousands of children fleeing Honduras and taking refuge in this country? What does good news mean for youth, like you, who are reduced to test scores and grade point averages in our achievement based culture?"

Trey and Cora were both perplexed, but intrigued nonetheless. The last one especially got a few nods from Cora and Trey.

"I don't know, Hope. Why don't you tell us? You seem to always have answers. I just have more questions," Trey lamented.

"Trey," Hope's voice softened. "Christianity is not about answers. Christianity is about questions. Asking good and faithful questions.  I have way more of them than you could even begin to imagine. I have doubts, too.  Lots of doubts, especially because of all the bad news we hear, see, and personally experience."

Cora jumped in, "I thought Christianity was about right belief? You know, getting the answers right."

"Cora, replied Hope. If you think you have all the answers you are not a Christian."

"You're not?" Cora asked.

"No, said Hope. You're arrogant. A good follower of Jesus, a disciple, is someone who asks the right questions.  Good news questions.  Questions of despair and heart ache.  Questions that center on the longing for the world to be better, newer, safer, cleaner, more equal, just, fair, and drenched in peace.  Questions that ask, where is Jesus in this place and who is Jesus calling me to be alongside my neighbors near and far? Questions about evil, sin, suffering, forgiveness, life, and death, even life after death."

Trey thought for a moment, "Is that why Jesus' disciples asked so many questions? Were they actually more faithful than we give them credit for?"

Hope let out a breath as though refreshed by Trey's youthful moment of enlightenment, "Yes. Sure, they were cynics and critics, missing the mark more frequently than they got it, but they were full of faith.  Their questions were a strong mark of faith.  And Jesus asked questions, too.  Like what does good news mean for the man possessed with a demon and isolated by family, friends, and anyone within arms reach?  Good news meant being greeted with an embrace and healed of the possession.  What did good news mean for the woman who had been bleeding for 12 years? It meant she finally could be made clean and able to participate in her religious community and welcomed at the family dinner table.  What was good news for the 5000-plus men, women, and children who gathered hillside when Jesus was teaching? Good news meant being fed until they were satisfied. Good news meant all those who were labeled sinners and outcasts were forgiven and invited to the table.  Jesus even responded to the greatest question of all: what about death? The good news for all of us is that death does not win in the end, but, through Jesus, resurrected life is gifted to all.

Trey started to get it.  "So we are supposed to ask not avoid questions? Like, what does good news mean to my neighbor whose parents just split up and is not sure what life will look like in the days and weeks ahead?" Trey immediately began to think of his friend, Sam, who didnt talk much about his parents recent decision to split up. But he knew it was always on his mind.

Exactly! My favorite line of Scripture comes right after Jesus healed a paralytic and is confronted by critics.  He said, My Father is still working, and I also am working.  While others found every reason to avoid the bad news of suffering, even using religion as an excuse, Jesus questioned human suffering and then entered into it.  Jesus knew that even in the darkest of human experiences, God was, no, God is somehow, someway still working.  God is there. 

Cora thought for a moment, Sorry to be a bit blunt, but what does that have to do with us, with what we do? Sure, we trust God is working- although I often question that- but even if God is, what does that have to do with us?

Hope nodded in agreement, I hear you.  I also frequently question Gods presence. But I keep working, hoping, praying, and believing good news is out there somewhere. So, as those who follow Jesus, when we see others suffering and in the depths of the worst kind of news, we are called to hear their questions, ask versus avoid many of our own questions, and then consider how can we begin to work towards good news much in the same way Jesus did.  So, what might that look like for your friends you met this week or your friends, Sam and Chris, back home?"

Trey paused. Cora looked at Trey, hoping maybe he would have a response. They both shrugged.

"I'm not sure.  All I have right now are a lot of questions, and we still have two more days on this trip.'" Trey said this, wondering if he was going to frustrate his youth pastor.

"And if Trey has six questions. I have ten." Cora said, as though she wanted to back up her friend.

Hope grinned again.  "That's why I love teenagers. That's why I will never stop serving alongside teenagers."

Again, the two friends were confused. 

"Why?" They asked.

"Because you ask the best questions.  You're not afraid of questions. You challenge adults who all-too-often think they have all the answers and life figured out.  In those moments, you push us.  I think that's maybe why Jesus said we needed to have faith like a child.  Not because of blind obedience, but because kids are always asking questions. And by asking questions, good news questions in the midst of so much bad news, only then do we begin to see the face of Christ. Only then do we actually demonstrate child-like faith."

Cora smiled. "I have one more question, Hope."

"Sure."

"Is this our stop?"

"No, smiled Hope. Our stop was the last one.  Whoops."

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Play Like a Raven? How #RayRice has exposed a society still naive to the realities of domestic violence

I have been a Ravens fan since they moved from Cleveland to Baltimore in 1996.

I was at their inaugural game.

I celebrated, with a housefull of family and friends, their first and second Super Bowl championships.

I have endless memorabilia (or what my wife calls, "junk") related to their history and success as an NFL franchise.

And that is what the Ravens are known as around the league: a successful and model professional football organization. The Ravens are frequently lauded for their professionalism and ingenuity, solid draft picks and stellar defense.

They have warranted praise for consistent success over the last two decades.

That is, until they failed. The Ravens failed. The NFL failed. Many sports pundits failed. Fans have failed. Social media trolls continue to fail.

The organizational mantra, "Play Like a Raven," is under review.

The Ravens and NFL eventually got the call right by cutting and indefinitely suspending Ray Rice, but their response was much too slow. A tragic parallel to most incidents of domestic violence.

Slow. Belated. Hesitant. Too Late.

Ray Rice exposed the ignorance we continue to demonstrate as a society when it comes to Domestic Violence and Abuse. Ray Rice also exposed how we are all mere pawns in corporate games of capital gain and empire construction.

I am grateful Domestic Violence is a trending topic on social media platforms, stirring awareness, funds, and much needed advocacy on those who frequently suffer in silence. Still, I am throwing my yellow flags of caution and concern as #RayRice continues to dominate our news feeds.

Blame Shifting: Janay Rice is the victim (better said, survivor) of a horrific offense and crime known as domestic violence. Let's say that again, Janay Rice is the victim and survivor. Yes, she did go on to marry her abuser. Yes, she has been quoted as defending "the man she loves." Yes, she has been seen at Ray Rice's side in press conferences and interviews. But Janay Rice is the victim and survivor.

The questioning of why she stayed with and wed the very man who threw a right hook and drug her unconcious body out of an elevator only shifts blame upon the victim. Abusers and their lawyers, even employers, wickedly navigate ways to maintain control and soften the blow of responsibility and consequece. A victim's economic circumstance, parental responsibilities, and simple uncertainty and fear about life without their spouse or partner (read: abuser) are frequently leveraged against them as yet another means to ensure power and control.

Ray Rice is the offender. Janay Rice is the offended. Let's not shift blame and play into the very hand of those who are paid a pretty penny to acquit the assailant. Even when and if she continues to defend her abusive husband. [Check out a Related Post on #WhyIStayed and #WhyILEft]

Addressed Only When Caught: This tweet says it all.

The NFL, like many institutions, organizations, corporations, and political figures, has a lot of dirty laundry. They don't like it aired out, but sometimes the public catches a whiff of the odor and only then do they consider possibilities for washing away the residue of responsibility or responding to social demands for change. We are naive to think the NFL is as innocent as we are, as though TMZ has more access to elevator video than a multi-billion dollar industry. Football runs this country from September, nay April, through the first Sunday in February. It's worse than corporate Christmas. It's time we held them accountable and said enough.

Which doesn't mean burning your Ray Rice jersey only to purchase a new one. The NFL would love that.

Maybe consider something like what this Baltimore pizza shop is doing with every jersey turned in- donating to a local DV Center.

Hold Athletes Accountable to Higher Standards: I know guys like Charles Barkley dismiss their role model status. I beg to differ. While my kids will be cautioned not use the likes of football players and celebrities as their unquestioned heroes, they still are public figures. When you are in the entertainment industry, you bear certain responsibility to your audience who makes your profession possible. And many of the fans in sold-out stadiums are children and youth who have instant access to off-the-field antics, too.

You are accountable. So are the teams and leagues who employ you.

Player conduct, even away from the locker room, must become a greater concern. And not only as a good business plan, although it probably is, but also and especially because it's your human obligation. Domestic violence is a very real problem that many children, youth, young men and women know all too well. We must have a consistent message from playground to fifty yard-line, high school hallways to casino elevators, violence is never to be tolerated. Victims of assault are never the ones to be blamed. We are forever on the side of the abused and offended.

This past Sunday I missed the Ravens game. Apparently I didn't miss much. Instead, I was at a fall kickoff event at our church where attendees could make their attempt to dunk this Youth Pastor in one of those carnival-esque dunk tanks.

Way too many succeeded.

Funds raised went to support the Domestic Violence Center of Chester County. We laid out a purple table cloth and gave away purple wristbands as a simple move of solidarity with those in our community who are victims, better said, survivors of domestic violence.

Purple was the color of my Sunday. And not because I was wearing Ravens gear, which may not occur again for a while.

Purple was the color of advocacy and awareness.

Maybe the Ravens should consider the same.

[updated at 11:00pm: Ravens Owner did just that and delivered a letter of apology and announce a partnership with local DV program and advocacy center in Baltimore. Click here]

Helpful Links Related to Domestic Violence