Five years ago tomorrow, a 32-year-old man walked into a small Amish school house and, in cold blood, killed five innocent people and wounded five more.

He then turned his gun on himself.

The story headlined national news for over a week, and, five years later, the tragedy still lingers in America’s memory.

Meanwhile, for my part, I have a very odd relationship to the story.

I was there, at that very school, the day before it happened.

On October 1^st, 2006, I was in Lancaster, Pennsylvania speaking at a church within miles of the school house where the massacre took place.

When I had arrived in Pennsylvania that day, the host of the event drove me through Amish country en route to his house.

I had never been in Amish country before, thus my only exposure to Amish culture was based on the covers of Beverly Lewis novels or scenes from Harrison Ford’s Witness and/or the Farrelly brother’s King Pin.

And because it was so new to me, I took very close attention to my surroundings as we rode through.

As we drove past a small school house, I distinctly remember asking my host, “Is that their school?”

He nodded.

I continued staring at the building, and as I did, a woman in a black dress suddenly walked out. “I imagine that’s a teacher,” I said.

“Likely,” he responded.

I spoke at the man’s church that evening, flew back the next morning, and, once home, flipped on my television to see images of the very school I’d looked at and inquired about the day before.

That night, like the rest of the country, I sat glued to my TV, amazed at the display of grace and forgiveness the Amish community displayed. I couldn’t stop wondering if the woman in the black dress– the woman I had seen just the day before with my own eyes— had been one of the victims.

I still wonder.

Now, five years later, it’s still impossible to rap my mind around how such unspeakable evil can exist. It’s also still difficult to imagine being able to forgive someone for something so heinous.

I read something yesterday that put it all in better perspective for me, though.

I read how the shooter’s mother, Terri Roberts, goes every week to visit the bedside of her son’s most damaged living victim—a school girl who, now 11, was left paralyzed by the shooting.

The story is profoundly moving, and it speaks of an inner strength that is hard to fathom.

While reading, I kept wondering how difficult it must be to go through life being the parent of a “monster.” I’ve thought about this before regarding Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris, the Columbine shooters, and how it must be difficult for their parents to get out of bed in the morning; how it must be impossible for them to face anyone in the streets.

This woman, though, through her faith, has found a way to reconcile her shame at what her son did with her natural love for him as her son.

Meanwhile, the Amish community—and even her son’s victims and their families—have embraced her.

It is a story of humility and forgiveness on both sides, one that teaches us that none of us is beyond redemption, and also, that none of us is above grace.

I wrote Wednesday of how important it is for kids to know that their parents are there supporting them and cheering for them at their sporting events.  

Of how this makes them feel valued and loved.

I used that post to thank my parents for having always been there for my events and to remind parents everywhere how important “being there” is to their children.

Today, I want to take occasion to thank another type of parent: the parent who is working two-jobs or odd shifts just so his or her kid can be there.

These parents, because of their schedules, might not be able to make it to the game, but they are missing it so their kid can.

These parents would kill to be at the game, but know that, in order for the kid to be able to keep playing, they have to keep working. They know that, in order for the family to keep a roof over its head and food on the table, they simply can’t make it to the game.

To these parents, I say: While I’m certain it is devastating to miss these events, please know that, when your kids grow up, they will look back and be hugely grateful to you for your love and sacrifice on their behalf.

Right this minute, in Tehran, Youcef Nadarkhani, the head of a network of Christian home churches in Iran, faces execution for being a Christian.

He has been given four days to recant his Christian beliefs and claim himself a Muslim; if he does, he will be set free.

Thus far, Nadarkhani has refused.

Even in the face of death, he has refused.

Reading this report got me thinking about how, here in the United States, Christians often speak of being “persecuted.”

Hearing of what Nadarkhani is facing makes this notion laughable, because it shows what real persecution is. Not pretend persecution; real persecution.

In my life, I have never—not once—been persecuted because of my faith. In fact, if anything, my faith has always been a social commodity for me. No matter what circles I have been in, being a Christian has actually been advantageous to me, as it has always put me in the majority. From my experience, in the United States, it has been (and is) those of other faiths that have experienced any sort of persecution.

But tonight, in Iran, a young Christian faces real persecution for his faith.

For my faith.

And as the story unfolds, all I can think about is how, if I were him, I would be tempted to lie and say I had converted.

In fact, I know there’s a better than 50% chance I would do this very thing.

I fear I would rationalize it like this: who cares what I say; in my heart I will still remain a Christian.

Even though I know this would be pulling a Peter, I fear I would be tempted to do it.

It makes me unspeakably sad to realize this about myself.

It also makes me unspeakably proud of Youcef Nadarkhani — a man who is being the kind of Christian many of us only profess wanting to be.

So, God speed to you, Youcef; may you know that, at this very moment, countless numbers of people are praying for and being encouraged by you.

(Note: Sojourners.net is running updates on this story at its God’s Politics blog.)

Monday I posted an open letter from Cheerwine (a Southeastern based soda) to the rest of the country deeming itself the best tasting soda in the world.

And I stand behind that post. For me, Cheerwine is the best soda in the world.

However, I received several emails from people both agreeing and disagreeing with me.

Therefore, being a soda fanatic, I felt I shoud clarify lest anyone feel– just because I touted Cheerwine as the best– that there are certain sodas I do not appreciate.

In fact, I am going to take occassion to use this as the inaugural post in a weekly series: “Thursday’s Top 5 List.”

So with no further ado, here is my top 5 soda list:

1. Cheerwine
2. Coke
3. Sun Drop
4. Mello Yello
5. Dr. Pepper

And there you have it. Now, let the soda debate begin… 

Last night April and I went and watched our little buddy AJ’s first football practice.

He’s six, and it’s his first season.

As the practice began, I noticed how often the children—those with parents there—scanned the sidelines to check to see that their parents were watching.

It reminded me of being a kid, myself, and knowing my mom and dad were always going to be in the stands and/or on the sidelines watching me and cheering for me.

There really is something special, something empowering, that happens to a child when he knows his parents care enough to be there watching him practice and play.

He feels valued.

He knows he’s loved.

I look back on those days and realize that I took for granted that my folks would always be there.

So I post this today to say thank you to them, and also, to remind you who are parents just how important it is to your kid that you’re showing up each day.

Even if they don’t say it.

Even if they don’t even know it yet.

This is a still photo from the currently airing M&M’s commercial that features the Eric Carmen song “Hungry Eyes.”

(No, I didn’t pull that Eric Carmen reference from the top of the dome. I googled it, I promise.)

If you’ve seen this commercial– in other words, if you watch television at all– you know the premise behind it: the M&M and the pretzel fear being eaten by a pretty girl, but then the M&M says he’d rather be eaten by the pretty girl than by ”Hungry Eyes over there.”

Then the music cues and it cuts to this creepy looking cat.

Now, I explain all of that to then ask this: what does an actor think when his agent calls him about this role and says, “Hey, Joey, listen, got a script you’re perfect for…”

Ouchie.

Dear United States,

My name is Cheerwine, and I am the best tasing soda in the country.

If you live anywhere outside of the southeastern United States, there is a 98% chance you don’t know me.

Which is tragic for you.

It’s also why I am writing you this letter.

You see, my management has informed me that by 2017 I will finally have nationwide distribution.

But honestly, this is silly; seeing as I am the best tasting soda in the country, you’d think I would already be in stores nationwide.

I mean, everyone who passes through the Carolinas and tastes me falls in love with me. Once they taste me, they can’t get enough of me. They buy me in bulk and then cart me back to wherever they are from. Then they have family and friends ship them packages of me.

I am addictive. Not unlike my friend (and fellow NC based product) Krispy Kreme. In fact, I’m in Krispy Kreme doughnuts at select locations.

In any event, it is nice to make your acquaintance.

For now, I know these sound like the ramblings of an arrogant fool. But trust me, come 2017– if not before– you will see for yourselves: I am the best tasing soda in the world.

Until them, I remain respectfully yours,

Cheerwine

Dear Alaska,

Today marks the six-week point in the blog’s comeback.

To date, only you have not come by to say hello.

Two weeks ago, I sent an open letter to you, Montana, New Hampshire, and Vermont.

Each of them responded. Since, they have been regularly coming by and spending time with me.

But you, Alaska, have remained a holdout.

Why? Are you upset with me? Is the wifi finicky in the igloos over there? Are you too busy dog mushing this time of year?

Please come by and let me know what’s wrong between us. Things just don’t feel complete over here without you.

Have a nice Sunday.

Sincerely,

Austin

(Update: As of 3PM Eastern Standard Time, Alaska has stopped by and said hello. They sent a very nice representative– a young man Named Zach– who very kindly explained their absence. Ammends have been made and we are back on good terms. Meanwhile, Zach promises to send us pictures from the upcoming dog mushing season. Those will definitely be put up on the site as soon as they come in. We look forward to this continued relationship with Alaska, and we are glad to have this nasty silence between us resolved.)

Yesterday, on my way home from work, I heard Deana Carter’s “Strawberry Wine” on the radio.

Though I’ve heard this song countless times since 10^th grade, yesterday, for whatever reason, this song transported me back to my 10^th grade English class.

I suddenly remembered a student turning in the lyrics to “Strawberry Wine” for a poetry assignment, and I remembered how our teacher gushed about how good the student’s poem was, and I remembered how we all sat giggling as the teacher read the poem aloud, each of us eager to see who would snitch the student out for his blatant cheating.

And, as I remember it, no one did.

Then, as the song continued, I found myself remembering other things from that very class that took place around that very time (which was fall of 1996). I recalled reading—well, “reading” is a stretch; more like, I recalled daydreaming through—Thorton Wilder’s Our Town.

It is startling that I didn’t like this play then, as I have since gone back and re-read it twice and loved it both times. But what’s even more startling is what I actually remember about it from that first reading:

I remember our teacher, Mrs. Hoots, pointing out how the husband felt it the mark of a healthy relationship that he always have something to talk about at the dinner table.

I remember discussing that very idea in class, and I also remember having no idea why this was an important element of the story.

I remember certain faces from that class, certain conversations with peers from that class, certain passages of stories from that class, but I don’t really remember which of my best friends was in the class, I don’t remember any important conversations with peers in that class (though undoubtedly I had them), and I don’t remember some of the major works we studied, although I remember parts as specific as Our Town’s kitchen table conversation.

Meanwhile, I remember the look on my friend Holly’s face when our teacher began reading the lifted “Strawberry Wine” poem, yet I don’t remember who actually wrote it.

Crazy how memory works.

This got me wondering yesterday, of all the things I will say and do this year in my own 10^th grade class, what my students will remember from it in fifteen years.

How about you? Do you have any specific memories of 10^th grade?

Last night, while watching Survivor, I felt I was looking in a mirror.

I had this same experience last season, too.

Meanwhile, I would be shocked if it didn’t happen to me in a future season, as well.

And, no, I don’t say this simply because I was once on the show and now, watching it years later, I find myself reliving the past.

Instead, I am referring to the dizzying display of naiveté shown last night by Brandon Hantz (nephew of famous Survivor villain Russell Hantz).

Last night, Hantz suffered a veritable mental and emotional breakdown. Which is fine; having played the game before, I know firsthand how mentally and emotionally draining the contest can be. But this is not what makes me relate to young Hantz; rather, I relate to him because of why he suffered this breakdown:

His faith.

Granted, Hantz didn’t come out and put it this way–in other words, he didn’t say, “Hey, camera, catch this: I am about to have a breakdown because I am conflicted over my faith”– but, let’s face it, that’s what it boiled down to.

Ultimately, he broke down (and made himself look like a fool) because (a) he didn’t want to look like a liar, and (b) he wanted a pretty girl voted off the island just because she was pretty.

I know the blogosphere is crucifying this young guy right now for his stupidity, but it wasn’t stupidity that bred these stupid decisions; it was fear and guilt.

In other words, the young man fancies himself a Christian, and he is terrified over the idea of looking like a bad Christian on national TV.

Consequently, he is rendered virtually paralytic in terms of being able to play Survivor. More important, though, he is displaying tell-tale symptoms of one of the worst diseases within the Christian community: he is choosing perception over authenticity.

And as I mentioned above, I can completely relate.

When going on the show five years ago, as a Christian, I was mortified of potentially looking like a bad person. In my head, I knew that the show would be watched by millions of people in hundreds of countries, and I felt I was responsible for demonstrating to each one of them what a good Christian behaves like.

Which, even today, I still think, in theory, was a wonderful way of approaching the game; however, here’s what I was too immature to realize at the time: in putting the pressure upon myself to constantly appear like a good Christian, I was removing Christ from the entire equation. Instead, I was making myself the savior.

This is what Hantz is wrestling with right now, and it’s what Matt Elrod wrestled with last season, and it’s what another young, genuinely intentioned young Christian will undoubtedly wrestle with in an upcoming season.

Like Hantz, I constantly kept clarifying comments and spilling secrets because I didn’t want to appear a liar. Also, as my season was the first to implement a hidden immunity idol, I created the first fake idol in Survivor history, but then refused to play it because I was scared it might be perceived as duplicitous. Meanwhile, Elrod, who wowed us with a stunning display of physical, mental, and emotional strength on last season’s Redemption Island, butchered what could have been the greatest underdog story in Survivor history by continually announcing his plans to his enemies lest he be considered a liar.

All of these moves on each of our parts were ridiculous, and we all did these ridiculous things in the name of faith. Our motivation was simple: we didn’t want to appear ungodly.

Now, please don’t misunderstand, I’m not taking issue with the genuineness of my or Hantz’s or Elrod’s belief itself.

Rather, it’s the compulsion to flaunt that belief that is the problem.

Because when you approach a situation thinking, “If I say this, or do this, or don’t say this, or don’t do this, I may look like a bad Christian,” then you aren’t really doing or saying it for Christ; instead, you are doing or saying it for your own self-image.

I’m often asked what I would do differently if I were given the opportunity to play the game again, and my answer is that I’d be more focused on being myself than on worrying about how I might be perceived. The difference is, unlike before, I now know “myself” is a good guy and is a good Christian, and it would be nice to play the game confident enough in this conviction that I didn’t feel I had to do anything to prove it.

Dostoevsky writes about this very conflict in The Brothers Karamazov. In it, a character speaking to the venerable Father Zossima says of her conflict between being a good person and wanting to be perceived as a good person:

“I came with horror to the conclusion that, if anything could dissipate my love to humanity, it would be ingratitude. In short, I am a hired servant, I expect my payment at once – that is, praise, and the repayment of love with love. Otherwise I am incapable of loving anyone.”

This is what I wrestled with on Survivor, and it’s what Hantz is now wrestling with, too: he’s torn between wanting to be a good Christian while wanting more to be acknowledged for being a good Christian. Whether he realizes it yet or not, that’s the case. He simply wants to prove to others that he is a good person.

This is a very natural battle for any person of faith to have to fight. In fact, if a person is willing to face it head on, it ultimately will strengthen his or her faith in the long run.

Unfortunately for Hantz, though, it is the kiss of death in the game of Survivor.

(This post, which originally appeared here at www.austincarty.com last night, was published today in The Huffington Post)