I cried today. Honestly, the reason why feels thoroughly foolish and hypocritical. If I were truly integral in my faith in Jesus, the one who welcomes the outcast, the lonely, the refugee, and the little children, I would cry everyday at the things that happen in our world. But I cried today not because of the plight of an ever-growing number of the Syrian diaspora, or because my own government is both ignoring United States citizens in Puerto Rico and separating families at the southern border in an act that is both cruel and demonic. No, today I cried because Anthony Bourdain decided to end his life.

Just last night my wife and I were watching as Bourdain shared a cold beer and some spicy noodles with Barack Obama at a hole in the wall in Hanoi. Parts Unknown became for Courtney and I, a periscope to a world beyond, a no-cost way to satisfy our own curiosity and wanderlust in the decidedly grounded stage of life that is having three young kids. I find myself always attracted to people like Bourdain—grumpy, smarmy, and cynical and yet radically compassionate, humble, and wise. I would assume from the show that Bourdain and I share  different worldviews but I also know, if we could sit down to a cold beer in a sweaty taqueria in Guatemala, we would find ourselves not all too dissimilar.

Bourdain said in a previous episode of Parts Unknown that he spent over 200 days a year traveling, exploring, and filming for his show. Christian thinker Mark Sayers in his book, The Road Trip That Saved The World, illuminates the Jack Kerouac-saturated world that we all live in. For Kerouac, life was not a destination, to be rooted was to be restricted, repressed. For Kerouac, and for subsequent generations of people, life is a journey. Sayers writes:

So why do we choose to view life as a journey? How did Kerouac’s image of the road become so applicable to how we live and think? Well, modern life is a confusing business. The culture of home, in which everyone subscribed to one worldview, has disappeared. Now, every moment of our lives we are faced with countless decisions.^[1]p. 39

The chains of a mundane existence could only be broken “on the road.” Bourdain lived his life as a disciple of Kerouac—complete with an accompanying battle with addictive substances. For many of us, we may forsake the drugs but embrace Kerouac’s ideals. Travel, adventure, freedom, youth. We live an Instagram-filtered life of which Bourdain is the prototype, the veritable “Most Interesting Man In The World”. Perhaps one last time, in his grievous pain, he is beckoning us to a different perspective, saying, “Pay attention, things may not be as they appear.”

I would not presume to know anything about Bourdain’s life other than what he revealed to us on camera.  From everything I have read, it seems that he was a man who had quite a lot going for him: a beautiful daughter, an exciting, fulfilling career, and a great reputation as a friend and advocate. Much will certainly be written on how we should never seek our satisfaction in those things. Whatever his demons were, I simply want to offer a prayer for a man who inspired me to want to live more gratefully in the individual moments of my life, to seek to be delightfully surprised while well outside my comfort zones, and to just shut up and try new things. I pray that Anthony, maybe for the first time, would know what it means to be home.

Anthony Bourdain was a luminary in the modern world, somebody who not only reminded us that life is a journey but that to journey requires humility, a readiness to ask questions, to ask a question, take a big bite of something delicious, and listen. And in living out the modern ideals of freedom and exploration in a way that most of us could only dream (which is why we so readily lived vicariously through him), Bourdain gave us all a quite unexpected gift. I pray that just as he gave so many of us a lens to see places that we would never otherwise see that his life and death would illuminate the world that we see everyday, in all its mundane glory, in a fresh way. He showed us that though our passports may not be stamped full of exotic locales, the most beautiful and interesting things about life truly are universally local. Whenever we share a good meal, cold drinks, laughter and curiosity, we share our lives. We share what it means to be human in the truest sense of the word. Most of all we share a glimpse of what Jesus wants to offer every person. What  it means for us to be at rest, what it means when our striving ceases, what it means to be home.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;

T. S. Eliot, Little Gidding

Rest in peace, brother Anthony.

I love Baker Mayfield. He led the University of Oklahoma’s football team with an infectious flair and joy that filled every Sooner fan with pride and belief. And now he has the chance to do the same for the most beleaguered and tortured franchise in all of sports: the Cleveland Browns. I am fascinated by the theater of it all. Is Baker physically gifted enough to play at that level? Is it possible that the first player ever to be selected first in the NFL draft after being a walk-on in college—not once, but twice—can channel his singular charisma turn into collective belief for a whole city?

I am so excited for what happens next.

But I can’t watch.

The reason is simple. I can’t watch because too many of my black pastor friends are saying “no more” to a league that, with its latest ruling on player conduct during the national anthem, demonstrated yet again that it is perfectly willing to conflate political agendas with its bottomline. If you’re going to come back at me with a.) “its completely understandable for employers to deter employees from demonstrating while on the clock” (totally fair) or b.) “they are disrespecting the flag” (they aren’t) or even c.) “the policy is almost exactly the same as the NBA’s” (it is), just trust me I have thought about these explanations. Prior to kickoff, the NFL holds elaborate patriotic demonstrations, with liturgies of solemnity exceeding most Sunday morning church services. The NFL gladly stages their players and coaches as altar boys escorting that most sacred object, a football field-sized American flag (itself a violation of flag code) and even more gladly cashes the check that comes with football being America’s game. But what they didn’t realize was, many of these men are very smart, disciplined, compassionate men. They saw not only that there is a pattern of  violence directed specifically at black men by police; they also saw, like good biblical prophets, that the flag and the anthem were symbols that could be megaphones for the resistance.

And, from the NFL’s perspective, things have gotten out hand. I was at Lincoln Financial Field for an Eagles home game this past year when Malcolm Jenkins stood, fist raised, as Chris Long placed his hand on his back. Jenkins’ courage, the power of that one defiant hand, brought me instantly to tears. The only response of those in power to that kind of truth-telling is to write laws, to tell the marginalized “shut up and dribble,” or to label to them “animals” or “sons of bitches.”

My friends have walked away, far more courageously and far earlier than I was willing.^[1]The information available on CTE and the players who have retired prematurely along with issues of domestic violence related to football are also major factors in this discussion.You don’t have to agree with my reasons, you really don’t. In fact likely most of my black friends will still be watching come September rooting for teams that are inferior to the Philadelphia Eagles.  One of the most influential pastors for me is Dr. Derwin Gray,  himself a black man, former NFL player and a huge supporter of the league. And many of the same players I am writing to praise for their courage would say, “Don’t stop watching, this is our platform!” But as for me, I am trying to actually listen to people of color in our country and to not patronize businesses who profit from their work while disregarding their concerns. And there are a growing number of black pastors saying, “Why are we supporting a business that is predominately staffed by black players yet completely tone-def to what they stand (or kneel) for?”

For once, I am going to use not only my words but my privilege to stand alongside them. Its a microscopically small gesture, even less significant than Chris Long putting his hand on Malcolm Jenkins’ back. You don’t have to agree with me, I will not be ending our Sunday morning gatherings at church by telling people not to go home and watch the NFL or constantly reminding my friends that I am not watching this season.  I will miss tuning into the NFL after a long day of ministry and will certainly cheer on Baker Mayfield’s inevitable success from afar, but my sisters and brothers are worth infinitely more than entertainment.