I am hopeful that my sons never give up on God's 'brutal love' | Column

When my son went under, time froze for a moment. As the lights danced off the ripples in the water, I briefly lost sight of him. He came up, inhaled deeply, and gave me the biggest, wettest, hug I’ve ever received.

A few moments later, I had a similar experience with his younger brother. As we returned to our seats, I caught a reflection in the black horse trough. I saw a man whose prayers were answered for no other reason than brutal love.

God definitely has a sense of humor. The Church at Nolensville has a baptismal font with a heater and all the bells and whistles one could want.

I’d expected my boys would take a spin in the Jesus jacuzzi on baptism Sunday. Instead, a familiar trough sat front and center waiting on my boys. I chuckled a little remembering how their older brother made his declaration of faith in an identical water bucket.

Walking toward the stage, I thought of all the times I wanted to run screaming in the other direction.

The Gospel is not about me

As a younger man, I couldn’t understand why God loved a murderer like King David, but the church people couldn’t stand a few cuss words now and then.

Jesus miraculously turned water into wine as his first documented miracle. Instead of focusing on his supernatural power, my spiritual instructors focused on the fact that the wine in those days had a much lower percentage of alcohol by volume than today’s adult beverages.

My savior showed up for the unwashed and unwelcome. From church to church, I saw many of those who made “impure” life choices fade to the back of the church and then out the doors.

If following Jesus meant I had to wear skinny jeans and sing worship songs for eternity, I didn’t want in on the action. When my brother died while I was in college, I couldn’t comprehend how a Christian family like mine earned such soul searing pain as a reward.

Church wasn’t for me. Faith wasn’t for me. The Bible wasn’t for me.

None of it was about me. The Gospel is about Jesus.

My sons needed to know what baptism meant

In a hyper-masculine society, Jesus humbled himself by washing feet. Where the religious order cast tax collectors and sinners aside, Jesus ate dinner with them. The God of the universe set aside his own glory to die a humiliating death on a cross between two criminals.

The greatest temptation Christ ever endured was Satan’s offer for Jesus to forego his redemptive mission in exchange for self-glorification.

Jesus chose to humble himself and obey God regardless of the cost. That’s the standard for those who claim to follow Jesus. In my family, we call it brutal love.

As excited as I was to baptize my two youngest sons, the symbol is more than a few words and water. I wouldn’t have let them make such a public statement of their faith if they had not begun to understand the meaning as well.

Brutal love is generous

Anger comes quickly. We divide our communities quickly over the slightest offense. It’s so easy to fight these days. Many of us are quick to pick up a righteous fiery sword for our side on a myriad of issues. Brutal love sacrifices for people who hate us.

Pride has become a false virtue. We tell ourselves that we’ve accomplished something meaningful with all our hard work. We deserve what’s due us, and we can’t be bothered to pick up the slack for people who have made regrettable life decisions. Brutal love is humble and kind without condemnation.

Envy seeps in like a poison. Each compares ourselves and our possessions against our friends, family, and neighbors. A hissing voice whispers in our ears that we “deserve” better, and envy’s toxin morphs into the cancer of discontent. Brutal love is generous, seeking the benefit of others over personal gain.

Thankfully, God’s brutal love isn’t conditioned on what I have done or earned. Yet, it’s that same love that begs me to live a life that isn’t centered around me.

Forgo 'clean' religion in favor of a dusty road

My sons have been given the world. They are loved, well-educated, and privileged in so many ways. My greatest fear has always been that they will encounter the brutal love required to follow Jesus and walk away sad, like rich young rulers too blind to see a glorious treasure stored in common jars of clay.

Over the past year, I’ve watched each of my boys sacrificially love a new brother and son in our home. I’ve witnessed them care for friends and strangers alike. They’re developing into the kind of men who can pick up their cross daily and walk a challenging path.

On Sunday, two of my sons joined their brother as young men who have publicly professed their faith before a crowd of witnesses. Discovering the full breadth of that commitment takes time. I’m reminded of James and John, two disciples who also followed Jesus. Fiercely loyal, the pair offered to call down fire on a city when people refused to welcome their Lord. Instead of a vengeful warrior, the “Sons of Thunder” found a redeemer who raised a little girl from the dead and gave sight to the blind. Through fits and starts, they too came to know and understand Jesus.

My prayer for my sons is that they never give up on brutal love. They must forego a sterile, clean, religion in favor of the dusty road Jesus traveled. Thankfully baptism in a farm trough should remind them to chase after a humble Savior who was born in one.

USA TODAY Network Tennessee Columnist Cameron Smith is a Memphis-born, Brentwood-raised recovering political attorney raising four boys in Nolensville, Tenn., with his particularly patient wife, Justine. Direct outrage or agreement to smith.david.cameron@gmail.com or @DCameronSmith on Twitter. Agree or disagree? Send a letter to the editor to letters@tennessean.com.

This article originally appeared on Nashville Tennessean: I am hopeful that my sons never give up on God's 'brutal love'