Hey friend, you're tuned into the Semi -Seminarian,
our Sunday episodes we call Theology in Three
Chords. Where scripture and song meet somewhere
between the altar and the jukebox and grace ride
shotgun and a rusted out truck full of memory.
Maybe tonight you're driving home after a long
shift or you're up late wondering if your best
years are behind you. Maybe someone said your
name wrong today. Maybe someone didn't say your
name at all. Maybe you've been the strong one
for too long and no one's noticed the cracks.
Either way. I'm glad you're here. This place
is for you. Tonight's track is one of those rare
birds. Simple, quiet, and honest enough to heal
you without asking for a single performance.
It's called Dings, and it's by my friend and
Oklahoma folk prophet, Mike McClure. Now don't
let the plainness fool you. Song carries more
gospel than a tent revival on a hot August night.
It's a testimony wrapped in melody. It is a beatitude
sung in 404 time. In the heart of it, a line
that will stay with you longer than the tune
itself. I got a good old soul. It's just got
a few dings. You know what? That is the kind
of honesty I'd trust with my last prayer. I'll
see you on the other side. So as we're going
to do, I'm going to begin with verse one, one
that I call the Annaween Blues. And Mike opens
the song saying, I am just a poor boy. I ain't
got a dollar to my name. And that right there
is an identity statement, not just economic,
it's theological as well. That's Lazarus at the
gate, a poor sick beggar in one of Jesus' parables
who was ignored by the rich and comforted by
God. That's Job with a shaved head, the Old Testament
sufferer who lost everything and still said the
Lord gives and the Lord takes away. And? That's
Jesus in Philippians 2, emptying himself, laying
down his divine privilege to walk among the broken,
choosing humility and sacrifice over status and
strength. He's claiming kinship with the Anoim.
Let me tell you about them. The Anoim, that's
Hebrew for the lowly, the humble, the ones this
world forgot, but who God remembers first. They
are the people without leverage, no platform,
no security net, but they're also the ones clinging
to God like it's their only lifeline. And the
gospel twist is God says they inherit the kingdom.
So if you've ever felt overlooked, out of place,
or too poor in spirit to pray, you're exactly
the kind of person God tends to lift up. But
I have a love inside that won't lead to no blame.
That's 1 Corinthians 13 with his boots on. Love
keeps no record of wrongs. He doesn't carry condemnation,
not for others, not for himself. That's what
makes this soul rare. It's also what makes it
good. Now let me ask you something real. Have
you ever been blamed for things you couldn't
fix? Have you ever carried the weight of someone
else's shame like it was stitched to your own
skin? If so, this line to liberation. It's permission
to let go. He continues, I know your wicked ways
because I have been down too. That's solidarity,
not superiority. He's not coming from a pulpit.
He's coming from the ditch right beside you.
Paul says in Romans chapter 3, all have sinned,
fallen short of the glory of God. He doesn't
say I was better than you. He says I've been
there. And if we're honest, it's the kind of
preacher we all need. But you won't need to point
your finger at me, because I won't point mine
at you. Now this line is Jesus all the way. Woman
caught in adultery. Angry crowd ready. Stones
in hand. Jesus bends down and writes in the dark.
Let the one without sin cast the first stone.
And nobody throws a thing. Mike's just putting
that moment to melody. Four lines that tear down
the whole scoreboard of shame. So here's a question
for the road. Who have you been tempted to judge
lately? What if they were just walking their
own road, wounds and weight? Then we get to the
chorus. Because it's the trials and tribulations
and all the awkward situations that the living
brings. That's the gospel in plain speech. The
hard stuff is the holy stuff. Real growth doesn't
happen at the altar call. It happens. When your
voice shakes and you still show up. Let's name
it. It's the family fight at the holidays. It's
the prayer that didn't get answered the way you
hoped. The silence of a God who still loves you
even when you don't feel it. That's where grace
grows. And it's the trying and believing that
they'll be flying after grieving. It's not sentimental.
It's resurrection theology. There's no rising
without the ache. There's no Easter morning without
Friday. If you're grieving today, grieving what
was, what should have been, or what you used
to be, just know the wings, they come later.
And in the end, we all must go our own way. We've
got a good old soul. It's just got a few dings.
That line used to scare me, go our own way. It
sounded lonely. But maybe it just means no one
else can walk your road for you. And maybe the
road itself is sacred. Not because it's smooth,
but because grace keeps showing up all along
the way. Your dings, they're not proof you failed.
They're proof you've lived. Ah, verse three,
the gold mine. And I have found that judgment,
it does nothing, but it puts a weight on me.
This is confession, plain and true. Judgment,
whether it comes from others or from yourself,
doesn't sanctify, it suffocates. Doesn't sharpen
your conscience, it shackles your joy. Maybe
you've been weighed down by someone else's expectations,
someone else's churchified shame. Or maybe you've
been the one holding the scales, waiting for
someone to tip wrong. Either way, that weight,
it's not yours to carry. Jesus said, come to
me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will
give you rest. And I'd rather walk upon the water.
Then go sinking like a stone into your sea. He's
reaching for faith here, even shaky, barefooted
faith. He'd rather risk trust than drown in someone
else's bitterness. It's Peter stepping out of
the boat, fixing his eyes on Jesus, not the waves.
But it's also a quiet refusal to be pulled into
someone else's undertow. And maybe you know what
that feels like, choosing not to spiral. even
what would be easiest just to sink. So I'm trying
to lighten up, yeah, and leave all that behind.
This is repentance by way of release, not a guilt
trip. It's a backpack drop. He's letting go,
not of responsibility, but of resentment, of
judgment, of everything that tries to keep him
heavy when God wants to keep him light. Because
I ain't found nothing worth much more to me than
my own peace of mind. And friend, that's it.
That's the altar of the song. Not success, not
status, not being right. Peace. If you've ever
traded your peace to keep the peace, if you've
ever gone quiet to avoid conflict or loud to
hide fear, this line's for you. Because you know
what Mike teaches us? Peace of mind ain't cheap.
But it is holy. And you need to guard it like
a gospel treasure. So what do we do with a soul
like that? We name it as blessed. And we don't
send it down. We honor the wear. Because maybe
the soul with few dings is the one that actually
finally gets light enough to fly. And maybe the
next time someone asks you how you're doing,
you don't have to say fine. Maybe you can just
say still good. Just a few dings. And maybe that's
going to be enough. Maybe that's going to be
enough for you to be able to breathe a little
easier too. This song, friend. It is a psalm
of second chances. It is a beatitude for the
bruised. So if nobody said it lately, you know
what? You're doing better than you think. You're
not falling apart. You're just being reshaped.
And you're not disqualified by your dings. You're
testified by them. They mean you've been through
it and still have love inside. So go on. Say
grace. Guard your peace. Don't point fingers.
And when the grief settles like the dust, remember
there will still be flying. If you need a place
to come back to, come here. Pull up a chair beside
me and this old mic. We'll save you a spot every
single week. You don't have to clean up to tune
in. You just have to show up with your good old
soul, dings and all. Because grace doesn't come
to be polished. It comes to be real. And you,
friend, you're real. Hey, I'll see you next time.
Until then, be blessed. Chapter 6. Therefore,
leaving the church closed on the doctrine of
Christ, let us go on.