​The most creative genius of the Renaissance world: go.
 
If you got the era placed correctly, I’m guessing that Leonardo Da Vinci popped into a lot of your minds. And it would be tough to argue with you.
 
We throw around the term “Renaissance Man” as if there was a time when it was commonplace for someone to be good at geometry, science, architecture, painting, sculpture, poetry and everything else under the sun. There wasn’t. True, this was a time, especially in cosmopolitan centers of Italy, where it was possible for sharp and curious minds to work across a few different disciplines: Fillippo Brunelleschi of giant dome fame as well as Donatello, Michaelangelo and the other Ninja Turtle, the red one, to name a few. But mostly, when we say “Renaissance Man” we’re just thinking of Da Vinci. And it was by no means commonplace.

​Hosea is a man who married an unfaithful woman. He did so, knowing full well that she always had been serially unfaithful and would continue to be so. He would get just as enraged as you might expect by her unfaithfulness, and that was the plan all along. But he lacked the resolve to leave her. So he was ever caught in this pathetic cycle of being cuckolded and then trying unsuccessfully, through gifts and forgiveness and grace, to win back the faithfulness of the woman whom he never had in the first place. Even worse, he would try to buy her something nice to heal the relationship, as if he were the one who needed to do the apologizing. But inevitably she would see the gift wrapping and just assume it was from one of her many other lovers.

​If my life were the movie D2: The Mighty Ducks, anxiety and depression would be the Bash Brothers. One of them tries to stick out a skate and trip me. I jump last second and think I’ve successfully avoided the danger, only to be close-lined by the other one.
 
Unfortunately, our Bible is full of stories of what Jesus can do for dead people. But what does Jesus do for those who are just kind of always a bit sad?
 
We don’t have the story where Jesus cures the man of his situational depression.

​Life is the point of Christianity. Not the other way around.
 
Sometimes people within the faith talk as if Christianity is the point of life.
 
“Get thee to Christianity,” they say. For them, Church attendance is the goal of life rather than life’s launching point. They have faith in Christianity rather than because of it. Sunday is the week’s end—its goal or purpose—rather than its beginning. Their faith beckons them away from life rather than deeper into it. They cut out those parts of life which diminish religion rather than those parts of religion which diminish life.

Reading the Bible is NOT the thing itself.
 
Prayer is the thing itself.
 
Caring for those in need is the thing itself.

Generosity is the thing itself.

Hope for the world is the thing itself.
 
Forgiving enemies is the thing itself.
 
Worship is the thing itself.
 
But the Bible is NOT the thing itself.

​Like many saints, Ignatius of Loyola was far from pious in his early days. He concerned himself with the things that most ambitious young men did, winning prosperity, military prestige, and of course women. Then came the ecstatic day—typical in the lore of medieval saints—where he ripped off his clothes, just like Francis of Assisi centuries before, handed them to a homeless person, and dedicated his sword and dagger to a statue of the virgin Mary at the Spanish abbey, Santa Maria de Montserrat.

You don't need to experience a moment quite so dramatic in order to have a meaningful spiritual life. He did. But most people won't. Fortunately, there is a less cinematic but, in some ways, far more usable second part to this story.