Danny Taylor: Skinny Guy Thinking it Through

Once I was asked what Christmas traditions our family had when we were growing up. I suspect the one asking me expected to hear something sweet and sentimental like singing Christmas carols in 4-part harmony in front of the fireplace or reading Luke’s nativity narrative around a lit candle on Christmas Eve. Alas, no such traditions existed in our home. Instead, we Taylors traded sentiment for the hilarity and irreverence of “A Christmas Story.” Leaning heavily on the crude toilet-humor of triple-dog-dares, “major awards,” and pink bunnies, our only real tradition was tuning into the TBS 24-hour “A Christmas Story” marathon beginning on Christmas Eve. Without question, that is my favorite movie—holiday or otherwise.  But it isn’t the hilarity, irreverence, or toilet-humor that has earned my affection. Rather, a living example of the gospel erupts in the climax when the real hero is revealed.  The storyline follows Ralphie and his pursuit of an Official Red Ryder Combine Action ...

I heard a preacher once talk about how easy reading and interpreting the Bible is. “ The words are already there, all I have to do is say them! ” I certainly wish that was true, but having children will put that theory to the test immediately. About 6 months ago, our family was reading 1 John 2 and came across verse 15: Do not love the world or the things in the world.  If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. This caused a crisis of faith for my 9-year old who asked, “Does that mean we can’t love trees? Because I LOVE trees.” What a great question! That deserves an intellectually honest response, one that “ all-I-have-to-do-is-say-the-words ” is not prepared to address. What do you say if you are a dad who takes both the Bible and your kid seriously? Particularly, how do you read and interpret 1 John 2:15 in light of something like, say, John 3:16? For God so loved the world he gave his only Son, t hat whoever believes in him should not perish but have...

For what might be obvious reasons, I love Autumn while at the same time ruing its symbolism. It’s hard not to be struck by the beauty of the foliage painting the landscape into countless shades of yellow, orange, and red. Nevertheless, it is also a sign that Summer is over, and the icy grip of Winter is drawing nigh. For those who love cold weather months, this comes as a welcome transition. I, personally, prefer to bask in the last fleeting rays of warmth in the ever-shortening daylight.  There is a transcendent beauty that accompanies Fall. I suspect it is due to the fact that during Autumn, opposites collide. Summer and Winter meet and dance together for three months while one dance partner takes the other’s place. Their dance itself is stunning. Indeed, Summer and Winter each have an inherent beauty all their own, but the beauty they create when they meet in the middle transcends anything either is capable of on their own. Opposites found in nature tend to do this.  Genesi...

I do not pretend that what follows is easy to digest, and I fully expect some pushback. In truth, this may raise more questions than it answers (I certainly hope it does not lead you to question my commitment to orthodox Christianity). We love it when life is black-and-white. Unfortunately, living between Genesis 3 and Revelation 22, life is not often kind enough to draw the solid lines we want.   In 2014 I entered a ministry situation where, unbeknownst to anyone, my predecessor had been committing heinous crimes against children for the better part of a decade, using the church facility itself as the primary venue for his depravity. In 2016 when that information came to light, it made ministry there nearly impossible. The fallout of his perversion touched every single aspect of the church and beyond, and covered everything we did under a heavy cloud. It was without question the darkest years of my life. During the months when news was still fresh, I bumped into an old friend...

In the next few paragraphs, I am going to use some common baseball terms and rules that I hope to clarify, but if that completely bores you to death, I beg you to stick with me. This post is not about baseball, but about something far more important. The word “Take” in baseball means something very specific. You might hear a coach tell his batter to “Take the pitch.” “Take,” in this instance, can be loosely translated, “Under no circumstances are you allowed to swing the bat!” The pitcher might throw a perfect strike, but if the coach tells his batter to “take,” the batter should absolutely not swing.  There are any number of reasons why a coach would tell his batter to “take the pitch.” One reason was on full display at a tournament I helped run a few years ago. The team up to bat had a runner on first base and only one out. The coach wanted to get the runner to second base without the batter hitting into a double-play. So, he gave two signs. The first was to the runner: “Steal se...

 There are many metaphors the Bible uses to help the finite mind conceptualize an infinite God. His ways are not our ways, and his thoughts are greater than ours. With that in mind, our biblical authors often employ points of comparison so we can better understand this Being who would otherwise be completely beyond our grasp.   He is our Father. That is how Jesus teaches us to address him in prayer (Mat. 6:9). The paternal image is a favorite, especially among New Testament writers. In what might be the most beloved of Psalms, God comes to us as a shepherd, who leads us by still waters and through dark shadowy places. Isaiah 64:8 presents him as a potter—a careful artist who creates with precision. Jesus calls God a vinedresser (John 15:1), pruning dead branches so the rest of the vine might bear fruit. In a bizarre mixing of metaphors, the first three chapters of Hosea picture the divine-human relationship as that of a husband and wife, while later in the book (chapter 1...

Once in college, I found myself as part of a group that was blazing a trail through the hills of eastern Kentucky. To call our hike “treacherous” is an insult to the Appalachian Mountains. “Difficult,” “brutal,” “perilous” … the thesaurus lacks a good synonym to convey just how hard it was.  We were navigating a narrow cliff; a wall of rock to our right and a steep descent into certain death on our left. When we weren’t pushing aside thick forest branches and thorny weeds, we were trusting the tread on our boots wouldn’t betray us by giving way to the mud under our feet, sending us to a slippery demise with our bodies forever unrecovered in the crevasse of a deep ravine.  Our guide led us to where we were going, incident-free (save for a few scratches on our face) and the view from our destination was one of those majestic scenes that take your breath away. The beauty and awe made us forget all about the precarious journey. It didn’t make the journey less hard, but certainly m...