What's More Importanter?

divestments, contradictions, and the priority of relationship

I’ve long held this core principle, a north star that sounds something like this:

The ultimate aim and destiny of life is an infinite relational adventure.

All healing and wholeness begins and ends in relationship.

That principle has shaped nearly every decision I’ve made. And for many years, it pushed me toward a deep, embodied solidarity with the most oppressed and marginalized of people. Not just ideologically, but practically. I attempted to arrange nearly every aspect of my life to reflect the values of radical inclusivity and invitation.

One illustration of this… I divested from golf.

Dad had me swinging tiny custom clubs as a kid. Then I played on the high school team. I loved everything about it, the quiet rhythm, the challenge, competition, and camaraderie and that smell of cut grass on an early morning fairway.

But as I was baptized into deeper solidarity with those stuck on the margins, I began an inner dialogue beginning with questions like:

Why would I spend my time and money on a sport that didn’t welcome my unhoused, broke, and hustling friends?

Golf felt like a fortified culture marked by wealth, whiteness, and power, so I willingly walked away. Aside from a few rounds with my dad, I’ve been virtually golf-free for twenty years now.

That choice was just one of many in an intense season of principled divestments.

• There was the season where I sold my car and biked everywhere, even in the winter, as a gesture of solidarity with those who couldn’t afford vehicles or licenses. (That ended when our first child arrived.)

• I turned down several invitations to fancy restaurants, even when friends offered to pay.

• I picked up a serious smoking habit not just because I liked the taste of tobacco, but because I wanted to share space with those who found comfort and culture with it.

• I grew out a scraggly beard, wore ragged clothes, and gave a holy middle finger to places like Wal-Mart in protest of corporate exploitation.

There was both youthful idealism in all that and a genuine commitment to following the incarnational relational heartbeat of Jesus.

Both were true. I’m trying to offer myself grace as I reflect on the pretentiousness and many missteps.

But now, two teenagers and many years later, there’s a significant shift along with even more massive contradictions.

In the past month, my oldest and I watched the Pacquiao fight on Amazon Prime. How about that for principled non-violence and Bezos divestment? The next day I went to Wal-Mart to restock the tackle box. And with the arrival of his license and various activities all over the city, we’re considering buying a third vehicle. It all feels pretty weird and yet aligned with the relational realities of this season of our life.

When your guiding star is infinite relational adventure, the principled purist makes adjustments to be more present and compassionate. Or as Ken Wilbur might say, to transcend and include.

My choices are no longer shaped primarily by punk protest or divestment, but by the relationships I cherish most and for a way of connection and belonging that heals.

I feel far less like St. Frank or John the Baptist these days and more like some stereotypical sitcom dad, just trying to keep up with his kids’ music while making memories that really matter.

Sometimes I feel guilty. I do my best to hold it all at once. Sometimes the scales tip in directions that don’t align with what I say I believe.

It is easier to bend toward relationship with my wife and sons than with extended family members who remain entrenched in far-right fundamentalism, Christian Zionism, and other death-dealing ideologies. I still have my limits. My proximity and my patience is not infinite.

I’m learning, slowly and stubbornly, that this relational principle is not about perfect ideological perfection at all times. It’s more about context. It’s about sacred particularity. It’s about showing up with an attention and presence to the moments I’m graced with.

Years ago, my friend, Vinny, was preparing for a serious prison bid when he called me up and asked me to put my priest hat on so that I could help him “cross the line with Jesus” - his language for a very traditional conversion moment. I hadn’t led a “sinner’s prayer” in years. I had divested from that practice on principle, but Vinny could care less about my doctrine. He was seeking some new form of dignity and for someone to stand with him in a decisive moment of courage. So I gave him new words for an old ritual and I baptized him as best I knew how in the bathroom sink just before the cops arrived to send him off. Rather than focus on my principled theological expressions, Vinny helped me see this was just his way of saying yes to a much deeper relational story. My God, what an honor to be invited on that adventure with him. (We remained faithful penpals all the way to his passing.)

On the left - me and Vinny after “crossing the line with Jesus” and on the right upon his release and just before his death from cancer.

Principles of justice and mercy matter. Maybe more than ever right now. But healing, whole relationships are more importanter.

More importanter than correct grammar and more importanter than religious decorum and more importanter than ideological purity.

Last week, while driving home with my boys after a 48-hour fishing and rafting trip, my youngest played DJ in the van so we listened to Tyler the Creator and BigXthaPlug. Not exactly my playlist but… it was part of the adventure.

I guess that’s it.

The infinite relational adventure is rarely clean or perfectly ideologically aligned. It gets mud in the house and the smell of cigarretes on your clothes. Sometimes it’s too expensive. Sometimes it’s a run to Wal-Mart, vulgar rap lyrics, and baptisms in bathroom sinks.

I still believe in divestment from all things harmful and cruel. I also believe in the tension filled adventure of loving the one your with until that day where all things are made new.

JP & Micah up front. First time rafting!