Daniel Diaddigo's Blog

things you say to your daughter when she graduates

We celebrated Rebekah's graduation from college yesterday. Hard to believe. Seems like just yesterday I held her in my arms for the first time and spoke her blessing, "you will be wise beyond your years and peaceful in all circumstances." For the friends and family who asked for a copy of my comments, I've attached them here. Click to View Rebekah's Commencement Just Like Rebekah

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the lovely and the lovable

Sometimes it’s too big an idea for me to grasp that Jesus died for the sins of the world. That He died for my family and friends – I get that. But the lady sitting across from me? ‘Nother story. The woman is talking so loud about nothing I can hardly string two words together while I write. What I would give to have a remote control so I could press the mute button.
 
It’s so much easier to believe that Jesus died for the lovely and the lovable, isn’t it? It’s also easier to count yourself among the rescued who deserve God’s grace.
 
This is where our theology and our attitudes divide. We say we are saved by grace but we walk around like we’ve earned it. C’mon now. Dig deep with me here - past the sermon notes and into the crevices of your heart that only you know exist. If you’re anything like me (that would be a human) there’s a slice of you that understands why God reached in to save you. Just a little sliver of something that makes you worth redeeming, right?  
 
Alright. Now stare at that spot for a moment.
 
How ugly! How fantastically offensive to a Holy God! Is it possible to more completely trivialize the Person and work of Christ?
   
Jesus didn’t come to save the lovely and the loveable – he came to save people like you and me. People who think they’re worth saving.
 
 

Can dead men mentor?

Caleb and I drove to the Summer League State Championship meet today listening to Rich Mullins. It’s hard to believe it’s been twenty years since I first discovered I could connect with Jesus inside Mullins’music. A lot has happened in between, including the young man riding next to me.

The scene got me thinking about the spiritual influences I’ve had in my journey – those that most encouraged me to want to know God. Which got me thinking some more about the men I would consider mentors, those that truly invited me to walk with God. I realized these are mostly men I’ve never met. In fact, they’re mostly dead. Lewis, Chambers and Mullins make the short list.
 
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to know God without static. This season of rest in which I am making every effort to unplug from all things plastic is pulling me back to that place where I see God best.
 
I see God best when men are not in the way. Maybe it’s because I’m not that tall. Whatever the reason, I have observed that many men who hold themselves out as Christian mentors tend to distract me from Jesus. I keep tripping over the posturing and puffery that seems to run alongside the communities which attract such chatter.
 
So what is it that makes for a godly mentor? What should we look for and what should we hope to offer?
 
Humility.
 
Not the kind of humility that prefaces boasting with a disclaimer. But true humility.
 
The kind that deflects glory to God and makes Him big in your eyes. The kind of humility that pretense cannot endure. The kind that bleeds through Mullins’ music and Chambers’ lectures and Lewis’ writings. The kind you just don’t find much of anymore – but when you do, you see Jesus.

 

I'm supposed to be on Sabbatical...

I’m supposed to be on Sabbatical. One year – just one year. Be normal. Work a job. Raise your kids. And whatever you do – don’t involve yourself with anything that resembles “ministry”. That was the plan. Then the book went to print and people started telling me, “you have to have a blog”.
 
I’d ask “why”?
 
“Because that’s what authors do… they blog”.
 
“But I’m not really an author – don’t authors get paid?”
 
“You gotta blog, man. You gotta blog.”
 
So I’m blogging.
 
I’ve traded my tightly constructed, theologically scrubbed, and measured for posterity weekly webletters for the undisciplined art of posting random musings.
 
I feel like a violinist joining a garage band.
 
I think I’m going to like the garage band.