David Brisbin Podcast

Dave Brisbin 10.12.25 Watching a friend of twenty years wind her way through cancer treatment and now hospice care has been a master’s course in radical, serial acceptance. Just yesterday, to abruptly realize that the cause of her new pain was now moot—that no one was looking for causes anymore, only the management of pain—was another level of reality to absorb. I saw it in her eyes, but just for a moment. Then an implied shrug, and the conversation continued. It’s that ability to recover from the shocks of life that shows us who we are. You can call it resilience, but it’s more than that. We’re generally taught that spiritual maturity means moving beyond doubt, despair, anger—being untriggerable. Thank God the gospels show us Jesus wasn’t all that. We see his anger in the temple, his doubt at Gethsemane, his despair on the cross. But then we see his quick recovery back to center, reconnection with his deepest identity: not my will, but yours…forgive them, they don’t know what they do. Life is an oscillatio

After running a 7.5-million-year program, a fictional super computer says the answer to the meaning of life, the universe, and everything is…wait for it…42. For the forty-six years since that novel was published, fans have been speculating as to the meaning of 42. Looking so hard for certainty, we miss the point. The author said publicly that the number was completely random, chosen for its insignificance. Making the point that any rational answer to the meaning of life is itself meaningless. My favorite part of a movie is the first third. The setup, bits and clues to new characters, all that is left unsaid, hidden. What is unknown is far more intriguing than any resolution. Can you ever thrill to a magic trick once you’ve seen how it’s done? What would an objective answer to the meaning of life actually give us? What would be the experience of a life to which you already knew the outcome? In our intolerance of uncertainty, we’re looking for an answer to life that would kill the experience of life. Life is

Dave Brisbin 9.28.25 If you want to protect and consolidate any institution, church, or state, the most effective one-two punch is to stigmatize doubt and proclaim dogma—belief accepted just because authority says so…which stigmatizes common sense. Then with enough power, you outlaw doubt and common sense altogether. Just about every religion and every political institution has done it. If we’re paying attention, it’s happening all around us. Orwell enshrined it in his novel 1984, though he was just mirroring totalitarian societies eighty years ago. For 300 years after the crucifixion, everyone following Jesus was trying to interpret what he and his teachings meant theologically and personally. No one was in control, so no official dogma, but competing doctrines were everywhere, causing so much division that Emperor Constantine called the first church council in 325 CE. Christian orthodoxy was born, and with Roman power, the church enforced it. Apostle Thomas was marginalized as Doubting Thomas for being hon

Dave Brisbin 9.21.25 When an event has the immense impact Charlie Kirk’s assassination is having on us collectively if not personally, we need to stop and take a look around and inside. I was shocked at the news of his assassination, but even more at the worldwide response—hadn’t realized the depth of his following. The political response was predictable, though, supporters and detractors alike making him a symbol for their respective positions. It was sad to see the real man, the complicated, imperfect human we all are becoming lost. Within Christian circles, one group is becoming militant, vowing to fight to bring the country back into alignment with Christian values. A second appears to be growing despondent, expressing a sense of despair over both the situation and the Christian response, feeling disenfranchised by their church, questioning traditional faith and beliefs. I can understand both camps. If you’re seeing cherished values slipping away, you instinctively want to consolidate, organize, fight.

Nothing like a nice existential crisis to dig up questions of identity. Who am I? Of course. But beyond that, who’s asking? And beyond that, what does it mean that I can even ask such a question? To be aware that I don’t know who I am, that I can conceive of myself in such a state? The only word we have is consciousness. What is consciousness? What does it mean to be conscious? Dictionary answers: to be awake and aware of our exterior surroundings and inward psychological and spiritual states. Is that it all it means? All our waking moments we are aware of so many things, but we can only focus on one at a time. And when we do, who is it that is choosing where to focus? Is that us too? Consciousness gets tricky fast. We can dig deeper and deeper through layers of what we call consciousness, but what is its essence? Where is it located? No one knows, of course, but one theory is that our brains are not so much transmitters as receivers. That we’re not transmitting our own consciousness located somewhere in

Dave Brisbin 9.7.25 How could we have known about the first week of September? My wife’s back pain had grown into numbness down her legs and feet, prompting an MRI, but still waiting for those results Tuesday morning, a feeling in my chest grew to what I could only imagine was a heart attack. Finally told Marian I needed to go to ER, and in the midst of endless cycles of testing and waiting, a text comes in telling her to go immediately to ER for emergency surgery. She didn’t even tell me until after I was discharged, no cause determined. She wanted to wait one more day while I was still shaky—she’d waited this long after all. So Thursday morning, we drove to ER, and soon as the surgeon saw the images, scheduled surgery for that afternoon. If left any longer, she could lose all function below the waist. I waved goodbye, as they strapped her in the ambulance taking her to a surgical hospital, drove to meet her in preop, only to wave goodbye again as they rolled her off to OR. Would I see her again? Would she

I’ve always known I was adopted. From earliest memory, my adoptive parents so normalized it, it was just what it was. Why think more? Or maybe it was a guy thing. In her twenties, my also-adopted sister searched for her bio parents and found them. Was a brief, unfulfilling encounter, yet when my life imploded in my thirties, I put a waiver in my file at the agency that would release my identity if my bio parents did the same. Was a passive nod to a deeper need I was finally beginning to feel. Three years ago, my oldest daughter did a DNA test. Found she had 19% Indian blood, which could only have come from me—a new ethnic identity beckoning. She asked if I could get more on my/her bio family, so I spent $163 to get all the “non-identifying” information I could. One document, the social worker’s narrative, riveted me. My mother was a 23-year-old Hispanic girl in 1955, oldest of 13 siblings with a stay at home mother and father who was a barber by day and gigging musician at night. He couldn’t fully support

Since I’ve been talking about the need to question everything, arrive at a personal theology that we’ve tested in the streets of our lives, become willing to be called heretic for our trouble, one of our members commented that I must have been called a heretic at some point and asked if I saw that as a badge of honor. Called heretic at some point? I’ve lost count. Along with being told I was going to hell and taking anyone along who’d listen to me, I wouldn’t call it a badge of honor. Surprising and painful at first, it now functions more as a grim validation of the process of spiritual formation. Always a cue to reevaluate, but without fear anymore. I know my God will never damn me for a wrong thought in my head, and constant questioning keeps me humbly aware that the quality of my relationships is always more important than abstract positions, just as Jesus taught. Someone once called me a “functional heretic.” Not sure what he meant, but I took it to mean pushing the envelope just short of too far. I lo

Dave Brisbin 8.17.25 Not long after we started our faith community based on understanding Jesus’ teaching from a first century, Eastern/Aramaic point of view, I received an email from a man on the east coast who told me about debates he was having with his 17-year-old son over Christian doctrine. The boy was increasingly challenging his beliefs, and at one point asked his father: is what you believe really true, or just what you believe? Exasperated, the man asked his son where he was getting all these ideas, and the boy handed him the address to our website. God bless the internet. Is what you believe really true, or just what you believe? What a question. THE question we should all be asking continuously if we’re serious about meaning and purpose. We’ve been taught not to question by those who already have their answers. But any answers merely accepted as received, not the result of a perilous journey of questioning, not subject to the testing of continued life experience, will not be “true” very long. T

Dave Brisbin 8.10.25 Central jail is a different world. Humorless guards, colorless surfaces, bolted down tables, stools. Time is wherever you are told to wait for as long as it turns out to be. I have plenty of time to take it all in. Unexpected energy, more family reunion than jail visit. Young women dressed up, made up, parents, grandparents, two girls next to me over the low, privacyless divider speaking fast and high, Spanish and English in same sentences. I spin on my stool to face the opposite wall of windows. Young woman leaning into the glass speaking to a young man in his orange jumpsuit. The look in her eye, even from my angle, stops me. She could have been staring across white tablecloth and candlelight. Nothing else exists except the face in the glass. Like the prodigal son in an orange jumpsuit being hugged home, seems that Jesus, God, and the girl are all orange colorblind. No-fault love. So what about justice? God is supposed to be just, right? Well, we’re in a jail, so justice is grinding

Dave Brisbin 8.3.25 When we are presented with difficult ethical decisions, looking to the law, rules we are obligated to obey, can be comforting as we imagine that choice has been taken out of our hands. But as followers of Jesus, we also look to him as the ideal human who embodies good ethical choice. So knowing how Jesus looked to law is a primary guide in making our own choices. Jesus says he didn’t come to abolish the law but to fulfill, that until heaven and earth passes away, not the smallest letter or stroke will pass from the law until all is accomplished (Mt 5). Sounds pretty absolute. But Paul says that Christ is the end of the law to everyone who believes (Rom 10). So, which is it? Is the law continuing or ending? When we look more closely, we find that Jesus and Paul are saying the same thing as they look to the telos—the fulfillment, completion, or as we could say ethically, the consequence of our choices. Christ is the end of the law for righteousness, meaning once we’re transformed in Christ

Dave Brisbin 7.27.25 Had a conversation with two devout Christians about Gaza. One believed Israel was committing genocide and saw no justification for their military action, nor for killing a human being under any circumstances. The other, heartbroken over civilian deaths, saw more nuance in Israel fighting for survival against an enemy hiding behind its civilians. Two loving, sincere Christians using Jesus and scripture as guides came to very different conclusions. Is there a “right” way to come to ethical decisions? There are three main families of ethical theory: consequentialism looks at the utility of an action—does it create the greatest good for greatest number? Deontology looks at moral duties, “categorical imperatives” that must be followed regardless of consequences. And virtue ethics looks at ideal human character, or a “virtuous agent” to guide ethical choices—WWJD, what would Jesus do? Using Jesus as a virtuous agent, we still need to decide whether to focus on universal rules or the consequ

Dave Brisbin 7.20.25 We’ve painfully learned that when something seems too good to be true…be very careful or run. Grace falls into this category. What’s too good to be true more than unmerited favor, unconditional acceptance? Not only too good, but not even fair or ethical. Our theology speaks of grace, but denies it in practice, lost in the glare of reward and punishment. That paradigm, created for us and reinforced by us, is like a box for our minds, describing life and our role so rigidly that even if we do somehow get a glimpse of graceful love, we still can’t believe it really extends to us, unworthy as we are. Unworthy people can’t imagine they qualify for grace. Shame blinds them. Perfect people can’t imagine they need grace. Entitlement blinds them. So hard to fall in between. The only way to experience the first possibility of grace is to fully admit and embrace our imperfections and failings and yet keep showing up to the possibility of relationship—just as we are, with no pretense or expectatio

Dave Brisbin 7.13.25 How many times have you asked God for a sign? Desperately cried out for any toehold you could get on some certainty…imploring, making bargains. Great scene in the movie Bruce Almighty, begging for a sign but too focused on his pain to see all the signs along the road until he’s finally stopped in his tracks, forced to admit his loss of control. Art imitating life. When religious authorities ask Jesus for a sign, he refuses, calling them an evil generation—bisha in Aramaic—literally unripe, unready, unprepared. He knows as with almighty Bruce, no sign will be enough to convince them of anything until they are prepared to see. Except for the sign of Jonah. We all know Jonah: God asks him to preach to the people of Nineveh but he hates them so much, wants to see them burn, that he runs away aboard a ship only to be swallowed by a great fish. He camps in the fish for three days, until he can finally admit his loss of control. Ironically, Jonah is the only Old Testament prophet who successfu

Dave Brisbin 7.6.25 Leader of a retreat some thirty years ago, Catholic priest, asked the group—who attended same weekend every year—why Jesus came, why was he born. Hands went up to answer right out of the Baltimore Catechism—to die for our sins. Priest was so frustrated he said that after all their years of attending, if they weren’t willing to grow, learn anything new, next year just stay home. Wow. I had also been drilled that Jesus came to save us from our sins, shocked by his intensity. Christian writer and speaker, Brennan Manning, revealed in his memoir just before he died that he’d been an alcoholic since age 18, tried to be the good child stumbling into church every Sunday, ordained a priest, became a famous writer and speaker who fell in love, left the priesthood to marry, relapsed after 15 years sober. From motel to motel on speaking tours, drinking to blackout, all while inspiring so many, like me, with his writing on the radical, furious love of God…on grace. Philip Yancey wrote that we’re tem

Dave Brisbin 6.29.25 A leper approaches Jesus, calls out: If you are willing, you can make me clean. A statement. Not asking anything. No question whether Jesus is able to heal. Only if he’s willing. We’re obsessed with whether we’re worthy or capable of connection, acceptance. It’s our fear talking. But moved with compassion, Jesus reaches out and touches the man saying, saba ana, I am willing. In his language, it’s his deepest desire, pleasure, and purpose that he/we are healed, reconnected. His embrace before healing says it all. There is never a moment when full acceptance is not full reality. Years ago, a woman living on the streets would come on Sundays, usually under the influence. We and the donuts didn’t mind, until one Sunday she was acting out so violently, we had to escort her out. After the service she came back as we were all mingling and made a beeline for me. I stiffened, may have actually taken a step back, but gave her direct eye contact, listening while she speed-talked about things I ca

Dave Brisbin 6.22.25 Chances are, if you were raised in a Christian tradition, you learned that doubt was the enemy of faith, the opposite of faith, if you had any doubt at all you had no faith. Such learning goes deep and doesn’t go away without a fight. Makes us so hard on ourselves, feeling the inevitable doubts of uncertain human life only to pile on the condemnation of childhood. Making matters worse, we read the gospels to see the first followers of Jesus drop their nets, their entire lives, to follow him at their very first meeting. These were men with wives and children, livelihoods supporting their households. They left all that at the first meeting with a stranger? Is that the bar for faith? We make a fundamental error in assuming that the first mention of a person meeting Jesus is also their first meeting. In Matthew and Mark’s gospels, Andrew and Peter are first mentioned following Jesus immediately, but was that their first meeting? In Luke, Jesus walks into Peter’s house as if he lives there a

Dave Brisbin 6.15.25 Past week brought a series of headlines each pre-empting each other’s news cycle. Against a backdrop of wars in Ukraine and Gaza and the disruption of a new US administration intent on radical change, protests and riots broke out in LA, then aerial offensives between Israel and Iran, political assassinations in Minnesota, more protests nationwide. Huge issues we can’t ignore, that demand a response, a personal way forward. In the midst of it, I receive an email about a meditative practice of “moving our awareness into our hearts, letting our vision arise from a place of integration rather than analysis, receptivity rather than grasping after things we desire.” Though it stood right at the heart of contemplative practice that I’ve been championing for decades, this week, it read like an anemic retreat from action, naïve, even irresponsible in the face of all that needs doing. Silence is the cornerstone of contemplation, but for many, silence is mere complicity. We all want to feel relevan

Dave Brisbin 6.8.25 A man asks me about Jesus’ saying that if we believe in him and his works, we’ll do the same and greater works than he. He’s troubled by the verse because he’s not doing the works that Jesus did, let alone greater ones, so does that mean he doesn’t really believe? I ask him what works of Jesus he’s looking to do. Well, it has to be the healings and miracles, right? And therein lies the rub. The church hasn’t known what to do with this verse for the same reason, usually limiting it to Jesus’ immediate inner circle who performed healings and miracles in the gospels. But if Jesus’ message doesn’t apply to us, why read it? Or maybe we’re just misunderstanding which works Jesus means. Nothing focuses the mind like a deadline, so you can bet the last words a person believes they’ll say to you will be the most crucial they have to offer. Jesus’ last words to his friends were to love each other as he had loved them, that people would know they were his followers by their love. Not theology, ritua

Dave Brisbin 6.1.25 What is the most important goal of your spiritual formation? You might instinctively say love. Learning to love, practicing love. Good answer, but until we carefully define it, love may not help direct us. Rather than a feeling or behavior, love is simply identification with the beloved. When we identify—see ourselves in the other, a fellow imperfect human, an extension of us—whatever we do for them, we do for ourselves. To experience that identification is love. And vice versa. So… …the goal of our spiritual formation is identity. We need to be able to answer the question, who am I, and its twin, why am I here—or our lives will always be random with respect to our awareness and choices. And since love and identification are hopelessly entangled, a critical truth is laid bare: we will never find our identity in isolation, in the abstract, but always and only in connection with each other, with everything, with God’s presence. We look for our identity as some separate entity, a packa