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Netflix Sports Club Podcast


1 Paul Finebaum's 2025 Natty Pick & Diego Pavia's Heisman Hopes🏆 35:51
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Diego Pavia and Paul Finebaum are this week’s Netflix Sports Club guests. Paul Finebaum, the voice of the SEC, drops a bold national championship prediction that might give the Big Tenners pause, and he reveals which SEC quarterback has him starstruck. Vanderbilt quarterback, Diego Pavia, gives a standout performance on and off the field in SEC Football: Any Given Saturday. He relives that improbable ‘Bama victory, including pre-game routine and why he thinks this victory changed the conversation about Vandy football - sorry Nick Saban. Paul Fineman and Diego Pavia gaze into the crystal ball of the 2025 season, and what do they see? Heisman Trophies, making Auburn pay, and LSU’s chances for glory. In this interview, Vandy QB, Diego Pavia: 🟥 Details the 2024 Vandy vs. ‘Bama Buildup 🟥 Discusses playing for Coach Lea and with his bestie 🟥 Reveals his true height In this interview, SEC Expert, Paul Finebaum answers: 🟥 Why the SEC’s staying power is unrivaled? 🟥 Who’s almost a bigger star than Taylor Swift? 🟥 Which team will win the 2025 National Championship? 00:00 Intro 01:24 Vandy QB Diego Pavia Is a Star 01:37 Beating Bama 03:19 Choosing Vandy And Coach Lea 04:58 Give Me The Ball 06:20 Dude Put In The Work 07:38 Nick Saban Said What?? 08:20 Underdogs 10:22 Watch Out Auburn 12:33 Recruits: Come To Vandy! 13:29 Kay and Dani Talk SEC 15:54 Paul Finebaum’s SEC Picks 16:40 All About Arch Manning 17:23 SEC: The Only Game In Town 18:25 South Carolina Should Be In The Playoffs 19:40 Shane Beamer Bounce Back? 20:14 Arch Manning Is No Taylor Swift 21:42 The Weight of Being a Manning 22:31 Finebaum: “Best Player Since Tim Tebow” 23:20 LSU QB1 + Championship Or Bust 25:39 Post Saban Alabama 27:42 Is Vanderbilt Legit? 28:44 Can Mississippi State Survive? 29:49 The Vols “Will Struggle This Year” 31:44 SEC: Natty. Little Tenners: Nothing 33:09 Outro 34:28 Up Next - America’s Team: The Gambler And His Cowboys 🏈 Diego Pavia Instagram - https://bit.ly/45uLND4 TikTok - http://bit.ly/4fsLY5p X - https://bit.ly/4ldwx2j 🏈 Vanderbilt Instagram - http://bit.ly/4lfo8eu X - http://bit.ly/4mCiaWt YouTube - @vucommodores 🏈 Paul Finebaum Instagram - https://bit.ly/45kVtPv X - https://bit.ly/46JQFWc 🎙️ Kay Adams Instagram - http://bit.ly/3GYp4Go TikTok - http://bit.ly/4m7KmR9 X - http://bit.ly/45nI2Ou 🎙️ Dani Klupenger Instagram - https://bit.ly/3HeGGxx TikTok - https://bit.ly/4lQSBkl X - https://bit.ly/4lWpufr 🟥 Netflix Sports Instagram - http://bit.ly/45CPAhL TikTok - http://bit.ly/4mti6Ia X - http://bit.ly/4mseqGH Facebook - http://bit.ly/45o5xqK YouTube - @NetflixSports We want to hear from you! Leave us a voice message at www.speakpipe.com/NetflixSportsClub Be sure to watch, listen, and subscribe to the Netflix Sports Club Podcast on YouTube, Spotify, Tudum, and wherever you get your podcasts. Hosted by Kay Adams, the Netflix Sports Club Podcast is an all-access deep dive into the Netflix Sports Universe. Join Kay as she speaks with athletes, coaches, and top sports correspondents to break down the latest Netflix Sports series. Expect bold opinions, insightful analysis, and candid conversations you won’t find anywhere else.…
Circles Within Circles
Manage episode 451180789 series 2137121
Content provided by theeffect and David Brisbin. All podcast content including episodes, graphics, and podcast descriptions are uploaded and provided directly by theeffect and David Brisbin or their podcast platform partner. If you believe someone is using your copyrighted work without your permission, you can follow the process outlined here https://ppacc.player.fm/legal.
Dave Brisbin 11.17.24 The end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. Eliot’s iconic line reminds that time is not a line, but a circle. Beginning and end one and the same. That any authentic journey is a journey of awareness, bringing us back to ourselves expanded. And knowing…what? Step 11 tells us it’s God’s will we seek through the prayer and meditation that makes conscious contact with God possible. Without that conscious part, what have we got? But what have we got when we’ve got God’s will? We crave what we imagine as God’s “what:” what he wants us to do, the perfect life he wills us complete to the last detail. Mistake-proof. But God’s will, sebyana in Aramaic, is deepest desire, pleasure, delight, purpose—the essence that paints God’s presence in the only colors we will ever see. How do we come to know that? See those colors? In circles. Circles within circles of growing intimacy. Knowing, yida, is not cataloging data points, but becoming intimately familiar, a process that takes time and for which our soil must be prepared. In the first circle journey of prayer we develop awareness by establishing the structure and framework of formal, word-based prayer. Without structure, we can’t practice awareness into the muscle memory that takes us to the second circle, the process of knowing as mindful, wordless meditation, the silence of God’s native language. Until we can get out of the way, become fluent in silence, we can’t know God’s essence, which we can then carry third circle into our lives with the practice of presence. A homecoming of realization that we don’t need to do anything other than whatever we do all day long to know God’s will—as the how of our doing, not the what. That with the how of God’s deepest purpose and delight, any what becomes the exact center of God’s will. There is no substitute for traveling these circles within circles. Knowing as intimate familiarity can’t be transferred or bestowed. It can only be experienced, circle after circle, coming back to an expanded home…knowing ourselves and the place again and again for the first time.
…
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491 episodes
Manage episode 451180789 series 2137121
Content provided by theeffect and David Brisbin. All podcast content including episodes, graphics, and podcast descriptions are uploaded and provided directly by theeffect and David Brisbin or their podcast platform partner. If you believe someone is using your copyrighted work without your permission, you can follow the process outlined here https://ppacc.player.fm/legal.
Dave Brisbin 11.17.24 The end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. Eliot’s iconic line reminds that time is not a line, but a circle. Beginning and end one and the same. That any authentic journey is a journey of awareness, bringing us back to ourselves expanded. And knowing…what? Step 11 tells us it’s God’s will we seek through the prayer and meditation that makes conscious contact with God possible. Without that conscious part, what have we got? But what have we got when we’ve got God’s will? We crave what we imagine as God’s “what:” what he wants us to do, the perfect life he wills us complete to the last detail. Mistake-proof. But God’s will, sebyana in Aramaic, is deepest desire, pleasure, delight, purpose—the essence that paints God’s presence in the only colors we will ever see. How do we come to know that? See those colors? In circles. Circles within circles of growing intimacy. Knowing, yida, is not cataloging data points, but becoming intimately familiar, a process that takes time and for which our soil must be prepared. In the first circle journey of prayer we develop awareness by establishing the structure and framework of formal, word-based prayer. Without structure, we can’t practice awareness into the muscle memory that takes us to the second circle, the process of knowing as mindful, wordless meditation, the silence of God’s native language. Until we can get out of the way, become fluent in silence, we can’t know God’s essence, which we can then carry third circle into our lives with the practice of presence. A homecoming of realization that we don’t need to do anything other than whatever we do all day long to know God’s will—as the how of our doing, not the what. That with the how of God’s deepest purpose and delight, any what becomes the exact center of God’s will. There is no substitute for traveling these circles within circles. Knowing as intimate familiarity can’t be transferred or bestowed. It can only be experienced, circle after circle, coming back to an expanded home…knowing ourselves and the place again and again for the first time.
…
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491 episodes
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×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 along, but Jesus understands that humans occupy two contexts at once. We live in macro groups, but our moment by moment encounters are micro, one on one. And though there is only one love, that love looks like justice in the macro and mercy and compassion in the micro. Because justice must rule in the macro—to lose fairness and equality is to lose the cohesion of the group. But justice becomes intolerance in the micro—mercy and compassion must define actual relationships. Jesus and a girl at the jail are showing us how it works. Mercy within justice. Love shape-shifting through all of human experience. Though Jesus is always teaching from within a micro context, he respects the law and the macro justice it represents, but uses it as a guide, instruction—never an absolute instrument, never an excuse to miss the opportunity for mercy, for loving the person behind the glass. The young man will wear his orange jumpsuit however long justice requires, but if he keeps that look in his woman’s eyes, his soul will manage. Isn’t that what we all need? To see love and acceptance through the glass while still in our orange jumpsuits?…
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, righteousness no longer comes from obedience to the law but from a different source. Jesus is more explicit: the law will continue until heaven and earth pass away, abar, which means to cross a boundary or go beyond a limit. Jesus is saying that law, namosa—not an absolute code, but instruction and guidance—is needed to direct our choices until the unity and oneness of heaven cross over to merge with the individual form and diversity of earth in our own hearts. To see life in Christ as God sees it…all one thing with which we choose to identify, love. It’s a “disappearing law,” guidance existing only as long as needed. Chuang Tzu said: the purpose of a fish trap is to catch fish. Once the fish is caught the trap is forgotten. Purpose of a rabbit snare is to catch a rabbit. Once the rabbit is caught, the snare is forgotten. Purpose of words is to convey ideas. Once the idea is grasped, the words are forgotten. Show me someone who has forgotten words. That is who I want to talk to. The purpose of law is to catch God. Once God is caught, law is forgotten. Show me someone who has forgotten law. That is who I want to obey.…
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 consequences we create. Was Jesus consequence or rule-based? As to scripture, which many Christians consider imperative, Jesus is not tied to literal meaning. He paraphrases, adapts passages to current situations as rabbis did then and still do. He interprets metaphorically, changes context, and only quotes passages that present God as the loving Abba he models with his life—practices many Christian scholars would not allow. Jesus is not tied to the letter of the law, but to its purpose of preserving life and promoting God’s presence. His Sabbath violations are case in point. When he says the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath, he’s flatly putting consequences over rules. Law and scripture serve to create the greatest good for the greatest number—never an end in themselves. Jesus models his ethical decision-making, but even this is a guide, not a law. He brings full presence to each situation so he can best discern, guided by scripture and his Father’s love, what the greatest good requires in the moment. We can do no better. Yet we’ll often come to different conclusions. It’s how we know we’re doing it “right.”…
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 expectation—to graduate from shame or entitlement to gratitude. Gratitude is telling. We’re only grateful for gifts we could never give ourselves…best definition of grace. This is Jesus’ whole job: graduating us to the gratitude of grace. He knows he’s got to shock our minds out of the box that defines our lives and denies the existence of grace, and it’s got to be a violent shock, a loss of comforting but limiting beliefs as painful as his own was in the wilderness experience that brought him right to the edge. He knows how we think, that we’re always thinking, and that if we’re thinking it, naming it, trying to control it, we’re missing it. How do you know when you’re in love? Can you explain it? Define it? Control it? Only way to fall in love, experience grace, is to stop thinking, fall out of control. Admit you were never in control and that you don’t exist independently. Isn’t that how it feels? That each breath is not your own, but your beloved’s. Your life only has meaning in theirs? That’s grace, and to move so completely into connection with another is to shock our minds out of the box and graduate to gratitude.…
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 successfully preaches a people to repentance, but when God spares the city, Jonah is not happy. This is why he ran away. He knew his God, the extent of God’s love and compassion. But his own love was still tribal. His God should not be their God. God’s love should not extend to those he hated. The descent of his three days in the belly of the beast brought him to the gates of Nineveh, but he’d need another descent before he could extend his love all the way to the enemy. This is the way of it. No sign will ever be enough to overcome our human fears and need for tribal certainty. But the sign of Jonah, descending deep enough, long enough to implode our narrow view of life and love, is the only way to become free enough to see a greater expanse. Whether through external trauma and loss, or internally through intentional spiritual formation, if we’re willing to surrender to the beast, we still won’t find certainty—that’s impossible. But in stripping off illusion, the reality of love extending everywhere, filling every crack, can convince us our borders are artificial, our tribes too small, and our identity defined only in each other.…
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 tempted to ask what might have been if Brennan had not given in to drink. Wrong question. Real question: what might have been if Brennan had never discovered grace? How did Brennan discover grace? By continuing to show back up after every relapse, every failing, to find that God was still there waiting, completely unfazed, love undimmed. Our failings usher us into the presence of grace, never our successes. Only when we’ve embraced our failings, ourselves as imperfect, yet still bring ourselves back to Presence do we experience God’s love as unchanging, degreeless, graceful. Only when we have felt completely unworthy and yet completely accepted at the same time, can we see our shame for what it is—a fear of disconnection that keeps us disconnected. Jesus didn’t come to save us from our sins. God understands those, loves right through them. But our shame keeps us from seeing the good news of that kind of love. It’s the long way home, but Jesus came to save us from shame. Only love can do that. He came to show us the perfection of God’s love. To experience that is to lose the shame, the fear that causes all we call sinful.…
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 can’t remember. On full alert, I was ready for anything, but the more she talked, the more it seemed her difficult moment had passed. Then she stopped, and after a beat said, I guess I just need a hug. Didn’t see that coming, hope I had the presence of mind to smile, sure that I hesitated, but moved in for the embrace. You know first hugs…all shoulders and arms. I was thinking through it all, waited what seemed the right number of seconds, then relaxed my grip to back away. She maintained pressure, not letting go. Oh, ok…I re-engaged and waited what again seemed right lapse of time, relaxed, but she still held on, saying in my ear but not necessarily to me: sometimes it’s hard to get a good hug. The human condition in eight words. And as my humanity recognized hers, all the categories in which I’d placed her, all my interior boundaries, my tension, fell to the floor. I reeled her back in and held on until I finally felt her relax. We worry whether we’re worthy or able. But our worthiness and capability are never in question. Only our willingness…to reach out and touch first. Because sometimes a good hug is hard to find.…
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 and heals his mother-in-law a chapter before he calls Peter to follow. And in John, Andrew meets Jesus first, then persuades Peter to come, while other disciples are gathered over time. First mention is not the same as first meeting. The decision to follow Jesus was a gradual process as with the development of any human relationship. They met, got to know one another, sat in each other’s homes with a growing realization of who Jesus was. Luke relates that Jesus gets in Peter’s boat at the end of an unsuccessful day of fishing and asks him to put out a little way from shore so he could address the pressing crowd. After speaking, he tells Peter to put out into deep water where they catch more fish than they can haul. Putting out a little way, little risk, to hear the logos or propositional truth is always the first step. Putting out to deep water to hear the rhema or living call to action is the moment truth becomes more than we can haul. Even then, Peter is still wracked with doubt. Doubt is not the opposite of faith. Faith needs doubt as courage needs fear. Answering the call in spite of our doubts is the best humans do.…
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 relevant, do something significant, so what is a responsible response? Opening scene of a movie. Roman general looking over the field of a battle about to be fought. Face hard, eyes slitted, he knows the coming pain, planned it, resigned to it. Something out of frame catches his eye. Cut to a sparrow flitting on a bush. Back to his face as it softens, eyes widening, smile spreading. He follows the bird in flight, then eyes back to battlefield, face back to stone. Without a word, we see the essence of a warrior who can still be captivated by insignificant, fragile beauty, still capable of awe. Awe is an encounter with vastness, even if small, beyond our frame of reference, challenging everything we think we know. What we think we know, no longer awes us, so to be awed is to accept we may be wrong, that we don’t know everything. Awe alone diminishes our sense of self, restores the humility and balance needed to see our connection to everyone and everything, even a sparrow on a battlefield. Contemplation keeps awe alive. Awe is silence that is not complicit…essential preparation for speaking and doing what actually heals.…
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, ritual, or miracles. He defined love as love of the enemy—those not of our own tribe, the realization of identity with his Father and everyone encountered, whether family and friends or strangers and outcasts. The works of Jesus were his breaking all ethnic, social, and legal boundaries necessary to establish connection. Healing only happened after connection and may be understood spiritually as the connection itself, the liberation of perfect love. Pentecost, a symbolic fifty days after Easter, is the moment Jesus’ followers experienced their own spiritual liberation. Their loss at Calvary was the beginning of a wilderness journey that had to be taken without Jesus. As long as they were with him, they continued to think tribally, physically, literally, missing Jesus’ real works. He said it was to their advantage that he go, so they could identify with God’s spirit—always there, but invisible to tribal eyes. When they speak that day, and everyone hears them in their own language, what better way to understand their graduation from tribe, from the confines of ethnic identity to God-in-all identity, the real work of Jesus.…
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 package of roles, accomplishments, and attributes distinct from everything around us. But identity is meaningless in isolation, just a thought subject to change without notice. Jesus is all over this. When he says we have to lose our lives to find them, he’s talking about losing our isolating thoughts about ourselves in order to come back home, to reconnect and identify. Clinical studies have now shown that when we experience awe—defined as encounters that are vast, beyond our current perceptual frames—our sense of self is diminished, a first domino creating a chain breaking down social barriers and increasing sense of meaning. Whether in nature, prayer, or relationship, our spiritual formation is nothing more than serial awe inducement…bringing us back to the vastness that takes us out of ourselves. True identity can’t be conceived, named, or described. Soon as we do, we’re back in isolation, separated from the only place we’ll find it. True identity can only be experienced in moments of awe, pulled outside our thoughts to find it hidden in each other. If we’re looking for identity all by itself, we're looking in the wrong spot.…
Dave Brisbin 5.25.25 If I asked you who you are, how would you answer? Almost everyone I’ve asked, including myself, has answered with a mix of the roles they fill, the accomplishments they’ve accumulated, and the attributes they exhibit. Roles, accomplishments, and attributes describe the human container we inhabit in this life, the whole with which our egoic consciousness identifies. We think we are our roles, accomplishments, and attributes until we step out of our containers to find a deeper identity underneath. We’ve all stepped out at moments of peak experience, but we don’t shift identity that fast or easily. We fear the loss of our container to death, illness, age, trauma as much as we identify with it. And we identify with it exclusively until we intentionally practice the experience of stepping out. Entering kingdom is a metaphor. A physical image for a spiritual realignment. There is no place or space to kingdom. We don’t enter it. We become it. Kingdom is a shift in identity. Or better, kingdom is the realization of our true identity, the recapturing of who we really are—were at the beginning and still are underneath. The children running at our feet are kingdom because they haven’t yet learned to believe they are not. But it won’t be long before their minds take hold, telling them they must think about who they are, to hold that thought and defend it as they work to make it so. Whatever we think we are nothing without, lost without, is what we identify with. But anything we can lose is not who we are, and everything we think, will eventually be lost. The freedom of the truth Jesus offers is that who we really are can never be lost. Ever. Not even in death. Any identity imagined as separate from any other identity, from God’s identity, is illusion, so to strip the illusion is to see that we and the Father are one: true identity. Jesus’ Way is relinquishing everything that can be relinquished until only that which can’t be relinquished remains. The point of any spiritual journey is to arrive at the ground of this irreducible presence, an identity that can’t be lost, but costs us everything to which we cling.…
Dave Brisbin 5.18.25 Two events converged in my mind last week. My wife and I picked up the ashes of a friend we’d been helping take care of for the past few years…and our faith community turned eighteen years old. Nothing like an anniversary to open the memory faucet, and maybe because of our friend’s death, the serious illnesses of many others, and my own advancing age, my memories were not focused on timelines, but the long parade of people who have meant so much. Those who have stayed, moved on, and especially those who have passed on. They have been reminding me of the brevity of life, to make my time count. Not morbidly in a pressured way, but gratefully, aware of the gifts they gave me in our short spans together. Each of four men who helped found and lead our community had a particular gift he exuded, lived out most likely unintentionally, and of which I was unaware at the time. It’s perversely true that it’s harder to see the gifts others are giving while they live. Maybe because while ongoing they’re taken for granted, or because always mixed with inevitable faults and annoyances, the prophet is not honored if too familiar. We don’t know what we got til it’s gone. When a person is gone, we can reflect on their life in its entirety, stretch out, really see what that short time together gave us. Each of these four men had their faults, in some cases, mortal faults. Their gifts were packaged with their faults, but now, softened with time and reflection, only the gifts remain: one gave me his presence, the next showed me passion, the third how life was unlivable without humor, and the fourth, a constant devotion. To live with presence, passion, humor, devotion is to immerse so fully in life, we step outside the container we will leave at death, realize that all our fear exists only in our minds. Not in life. Or in death. Fear is a mental construct that we can take off like a dirty shirt. We will always fear the unknown at first, but our teachers, living and dead, are showing us in their most unguarded moments, that we can loosen the bonds that hold us inside our fears and experience the life that exists even in death.…
Dave Brisbin 5.11.25 Our English words patriarchal and paternal descend from the Latin word pater, father. We know about patriarchy—society organized around male domination, often to the point of excluding women—but paternalism is restricting the freedom and autonomy of others under the guise of protecting their own welfare. The US started out patriarchal but not paternal. We didn’t allow women to vote until 1920 but also didn’t collect income tax until 1913, generally leaving people to fend for themselves for better or worse. Today, we’re thankfully much less patriarchal, but much more paternal. On Mother’s Day, this is something to consider, because the church also been shamefully patriarchal, reflecting the culture around it. But since scripture does appear to portray God as male, is God patriarchal and/or paternal? We may wish God to be more paternal, happy to give up freedom for better risk control…but patriarchal? Male? Though we won’t find Mother God in the scriptures, the Hebrew mind couldn’t conceive of father without mother. In their very language, father meant “strong house” and mother, “strong water,” the glue that held the family together. There could not be one without the other. God was seen as father in creating the heavens and earth around us, but the Hebrew words for spirit, kingdom, wisdom, presence, were all feminine—spirit was “she” and kingdom was “queendom.” There was no God short of the full spectrum of attributes we see between father and mother, and the wisdom, compassion, intuition, devotion of God is portrayed over and over in both testaments as a God in labor, giving birth, nursing, comforting, caressing. Jesus always led with mother first, breaking ritual and social barriers in order to establish compassionate relationship before he ever instructed paternally. Father may symbolize strength, but without Mother, there is no reason to be strong. Scripture shows us a necessary and complementary balance, but more essentially, that we will never know Father God until we first experience God as Mother. All of God. God is an eternal oscillation between mother and father, a paradox we can never resolve.…
Dave Brisbin 5.4.25 The most damaging attitude toward life and spirituality is…wait for it…passivity. Passive people feel their actions are insufficient or that they have no real choice at all, which makes them victims—defined by choicelessness. Victims are always waiting, never in the present, looking toward some other moment when circumstances may change or someone, God, saves them from their circumstances. People with victim mentalities are passive-aggressive in their interactions with others, finding indirect ways of meeting needs and expressing anger or frustration without ever directly confronting core issues. As damaging all this is to human relationships, it’s catastrophic to spiritual ones. And yet, a passive, victim mentality is seductive, as comforting as a warm blanket, often nurtured for lifetimes. Having no choice also means no blame, no responsibility or need to act. Innocent of all charges. An innocent is not responsible either—kind of the flip side of a victim, and it’s comforting to imagine ourselves as innocent. But we were not created to be innocent. Certainly not to stay innocent. The garden of Eden was never meant to be our finished state any more than is our childhood. We are innocent as children because we have no choice to be any other way, but a child is innocent only until the age of reason. The part of us that is created in God’s image is the part that can freely choose, because love is only love if it is freely chosen. We don’t reflect God’s image until after we eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Only then can we choose, fully responsible for our choices and actions, no longer innocent, no longer victim. Capable of love. It’s scary to be responsible. Overwhelming at times. We all become victims when personal choice is removed, and as much as that hurts, the relief it can offer in ongoing passivity, the luxury of not having to choose or act, can bewitch us. If we’re waiting for God to save us, he’s not coming…because he is already here. All poured out. If we’re waiting, we’ll never see the truth. That we’re already free to choose what has already and always been freely given.…
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