JASON GRIMSLEY / CROSS STITCHED
“Whether I’m high or low, in heaven or hell, nothing can ever separate me from God’s love.” Jason dives into a memoir he helped his friend, baseball legend, Jason Grimsley, write. They guys talk about Jason’s wild and unbelievable life. This conversation is part storytelling, part revelation, and all testimony of the love of God.
Jason shares about several hardships he’s faced, including a botched suicide attempt and the near destruction of his marriage. The guys shared insights and wisdom for the highs and lows of life. And all along the way, they highlighted the message of the book. Cross Stitched displays the very real and present love of God and the abundant life He offers us when we surrender to Him.
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Podcast intro and outro music by Wilde Assembly
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A Hard Teaching & Burning Hearts
“Very truly I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.” That visceral word picture capped a message Jesus gave to a large crowd of followers. On hearing it, many of his disciples said, “This is a hard teaching. Who can accept it?” “This is the hard stuff,” they thought.
But it wasn’t the hard stuff—just the opposite. It was a prophetic invitation to communion, a description of our participation in union, an invitation to consume and embody Christ within us. The words Jesus spoke, as He went on to explain, were “full of Spirit and life!” (11) The disciples just didn’t understand them—yet.
Jesus’ message revealed how Measureless Love reconciles and restores all humanity to Himself. Jesus’ words contained an invitation for the disciples to leave their limiting certainties and lean into faith. It was an invitation to engage with the Emmaus Road burning that cries out from deep within, “We knew eternal life in our hearts even when our heads heard cannibalism.”
“Does this offend you?” the Emmaus Road Jesus asked His disciples. For many, it did, and understandably so. “From this time, many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed Him. ‘You do not want to leave too, do you?’ Jesus asked the Twelve.”
Simon Peter answered, ‘Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and to know that You are the Holy One of God.’” (12)
How had Peter and the remaining disciples come to believe that Jesus was the Holy One of God? That’s a good question.
In hindsight, we know their belief wasn’t extra-biblical, but neither, at that moment, could they have referenced chapter and verse. So, they hadn’t “come to believe” based on their current understanding of Scripture–nor was it because Jesus broke down His systematic theology. There was no biblical exegesis, just the Word who became flesh speaking to burning hearts.
This was not an exercise in literal inerrancy. Rather, this was about faith. The disciples had come to believe and know that Jesus was the Holy One of God because, in the context of relationship, they recognized eternal life as the nuclear explosion burning within them when The Word made flesh spoke to them.
“You have the words of eternal life,” Peter said, trusting a measureless love that transcends dimensions of time and space, as well as finite understanding. Because they stewarded the burning, the disciples were not put off by their inability to understand Jesus’ offensive words.
They had “come to believe” God was better than their best understanding and current biblical interpretation. It’s called faith. This faith is discovered in the One who laid His life down for His friends, and this burning is the only way we can know God and truly interpret Scripture.
When our experiences and understanding seem like hard stuff, cruciform love can be trusted. And where we can trust, we don’t have to understand.
“…Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you…” There was literal error in Jesus’ words, but because the disciples were in a growing relationship with Greater Love, even though they literally heard Jesus preach cannibalism, their hearts knew Jesus wasn’t preaching cannibalism…
This article is excerpted from my book, Leaving and Finding Jesus
Panic In The Backseat
When Karen was five, she had her first and only panic attack. It was on a Sunday, after church. She had a tummy ache and, with it, a sudden terror. What if she died? She began to hyperventilate, so Dad and Mom put her in the car, where she sat in the back seat between her grandmothers as they raced to the hospital.
In that moment of paralyzing fear, when five-year-old Karen thought she was dying, she told her grandmothers she wanted to ask Jesus into her heart—and she did.
Shortly after she said the prayer, the only panic attack she’s ever had subsided. They never made it to the hospital. Instead, they turned the car for home and celebrated a small miracle.
And it was. Jesus met Karen in her five-year-old terror and saved her with His great loving-kindness. But for the next 40 years, Karen told her salvation story through the lens of her evangelical upbringing as though it were cute. And we’d all grin because Karen has always been cute—and because God has always been good.
However, as we have grown in the love of our heavenly Father and discovered a goodness beyond what we knew yesterday, and through raising our kids—as well as some healthy deconstructing—that story is no longer cute.
You see, in the last few years, Karen has realized what happened.
That morning, in Sunday School, she’d likely received some version of the typical salvation message—the one with which many of us have grown up. Remember? It’s the one about punishment that often-included hell trains and the gnashing of teeth, forever, etc., etc., etc.
When she looks back on that salvation prayer now, she recognizes the kindness of God, the sweetness of loving family, and the reconciling wonder of the good news. At the same time, she recognizes how her little five-year-old heart was exploited and how her innocent and sincere desire for Jesus was manipulated by religious fear-mongering.
There is no bitterness in Karen. Kindness marked her formative years and continues to transform our families. She believes those who likely shared the sin counting, hellfire, Western evangelical salvation message were good, well-meaning people doing their level best; but also, because of kindness, she has deconstructed any salvation message that leverages hell and a cruel and punishing God to manipulate hearts of any age, because it is abusive and nothing like Jesus…
This article is excerpted from my book, Leaving and Finding Jesus
The Adventures of a Dyslexic Map Reader
Everything in this next story is true—metaphorically.
One day, I summited a mountain. While taking in the stunning view, I discovered a systematic friend had also just arrived and was enjoying the same vista. We embraced and then, filled with wonder, reveled in our shared awe of the landscape—it was revelation.
As we pointed out the beauty, we experienced a shared sense of eternal life. Then, mesmerized by our perspective, we each told our story—the highs, lows, wonder, confusion, epiphanies, and all the ways we found ourselves here, now. In every story, we referenced an everyday resource, a shared treasure. The Map.
We both loved The Map and gave it great authority over our journeys. I was amazed as I listened to my friend give his insights into The Map. He’d gone to Map School and had studied for many years to become an expert Map-reader. I learned much from him and still have much to learn.
But whenever I spoke of The Map, he became distracted and uncomfortable. I’d seen it before with other Map experts. I thought about telling him of my Map School days but knew from experience that such a conversation would likely become hyper-Map-focused, and I’d eventually lose interest.
You see, with regard to Map reading, I have a learning disability. Even on my best day, I will never be more than a novice Map-reader. When I was young and insecure, I tried to hide my relational disability from my systematic friends, but I’m growing ever surer in love.
I’m also older and have learned that when connecting with my systematic friends, it’s best to get my learning disability out in the open quickly.
“I’m a dyslexic map reader,” I told him.
“What do you mean?” He asked.
“I tend to read The Map backwards,” I responded.
“What does that mean?” He queried with growing discomfort.
“Well, I can’t truly comprehend it until after I’ve taken the journey and seen the view,” I answered, pointing at the view.
“But that’s the wrong way to read The Map,” he said, strangely ignoring the view.
“So I’ve been told,” I responded, laughing, but he didn’t think it was funny.
Concerned, he asked, “How did you even get here then?”—emphasizing “here” as if he ran security at Highmark Stadium and had just found me in the luxury suites of a Bills game without the proper ticket—as if I didn’t belong “here.”
I smiled. “Same way as you, I imagine. By the grace of God.”
My answer conflicted with what he’d been taught at Map School and would have received a failing grade. I know this because I, too, went to Map School. It’s where my dyslexia first showed up—and also where I first discovered I was a half-decent storyteller.
His demeanor changed. Where once we’d shared wonder, now he was full of educated doubt, informed concern, and systematic dissatisfaction. Then, he did something odd. He turned his back on the view, the revelation, picked up his Map, thrust it out, and insisted, “Show me the route you took.”
I glanced at The Map, pointed to the Emmaus Road I’d taken, and saw him shake his head. “That’s a slippery slope.”
I laughed again, “No, my friend, the footing is sure.”
Then I pointed to the view—the revelation in which I was still reveling, but for my systematic friend, everything had become secondary to the Map.
“I’m telling you; you’re reading the Map wrong!”
I shrugged, “Maybe, but good Lord, check out this vista!”
This article is excerpted from my book, Leaving and Finding Jesus
Tattoos, The Trucker Life and a Better Jesus
Dave was gruff but authentic and full of life. I learned a lot from him. He introduced me to the long-haul trucker life, which included CB slang, the rules of the road, the best truck stops for a quick shower, the life and music of Johnny Cash, and the wonder of steak and eggs for breakfast.
Most of our tours were up and down the East Coast, though some tickled the Midwest.
All our West Coast tours involved a smaller crew and an 8-passenger King Air. These were exciting flights for an 18-year-old. Phil Driscoll would pilot the take-off and then trade spots with me so he could catch up on sleep. I’d sit with his co-pilot, Dennis, and ask a million questions until I was convinced I could fly it, if needed.
“Hey Scott, trade seats with me,” Phil would say. He called me Scott for the first three months I roadied for him and his Mighty Horn Ministries.
At the time, Phil was a lot of things—a trumpet player, singer, pilot, businessman, and worshiper leader; but above all, he was a superstar who had run with Dylan, Blood Sweat and Tears, and Joe Cocker before he gave Jesus his heart. Back then, after you gave your heart to Jesus, you had to stop playing clubs and start playing churches.
“His name is Jason,” our soundman, Robert, corrected more than a few times.
“Right, sorry, Jason,” Phil would say.
Eventually, I just responded to Scott. It was easier that way.
I loved flying in the King Air, but most of my time was spent with Dave in the Mack Truck. We traveled the 500+ member church circuit, mostly. We’d leave Cleveland, Tennessee, days early, arrive at the venue the day of the show, meet the crew of earnest volunteers, and set up sound and lights. Later, Phil would fly in and play the gig.
I ran the light show most nights. It was cool—and so were the concerts, in the most contemporary Christian sense of the word.
If I were the name-dropping type, I’d tell ya about how I had dinner with Carmen and shared backstage with Michael W. Smith, Amy Grant, Out of the Grey, Kim Hill, Mylon LeFevre, and a couple of Gaithers. I’d probably mention my brush with Pat Robertson and my fantastic conversation with Ricky Skaggs. I’d definitely tell you about when I met Ronald Reagan and Dolly Parton at a star-studded Amway Convention in the old Indianapolis RCA dome. But I’m not one to brag.
Most of my time was spent on the road with Dave. He was a good man—rough around the edges but kind and a friend of God who’d seen a lot, both before and after he knew Jesus.
Dave didn’t talk much about life before Jesus, but you could learn indirectly by studying his tattoos when he wasn’t looking. I’m of an age where tattoos on Christians meant one of two things; either the person had a wild past before Jesus or, at some point, backslid. Either way, that person was cool and not in the contemporary Christian sorta way.
Just a side note, if you’re under 35, tattooed, and love Jesus, you need to find some older tattooed Christians and thank them. They pioneered a great work for you.
Dave had the kind of tattoos that let you know he had one hell of a former life. Some of them were rated R and made my 18-year-old virgin face blush.
While Dave didn’t talk much about that life, he absolutely loved to talk about Jesus. That’s all we did, when we weren’t eating steak and eggs.
After Dave got saved, he became a bouncer for Benny Hinn, or was that a catcher for Benny Hinn? I think he did a little of both.
Every Charismatic has heard of Benny’s book, Good Morning Holy Spirit. It greatly impacted me as a young man, and I recommend it to this day. But the rest of the world knows Benny from his white suits and David Copperfield-like presentations of signs and wonders.
Dave had stories supporting Benny’s showmanship and the authentic supernatural encounters with the Holy Ghost. When people fell under the power of the Holy Ghost, Dave caught them, and when Dave fell under the power, well, Dave was a big man. The way he told it, when he was bowled over by the Holy Ghost, he cried and laughed the whole time. “It was powerful, beautiful, transforming, and amazing,” he said with a sincerity that fascinated me.
Dave loved the Holy Ghost, Jesus, and our Father.
I did too. And I loved hearing Dave’s thoughts about the Trinity.
Dave was a Christian, and Jesus was his best friend. Mine, too. Truly. But when we talked about Jesus, Dave’s thoughts were fuller and better than mine. We both used the same words to describe Jesus, but Dave’s interpretation was deeper and more complete. Dave’s understanding of God’s goodness was also better than I understood it.
Dave’s Jesus was kind, patient, and loved everyone.
My Jesus was also kind, but a stickler for rules, patient if you obeyed Him, and loved everyone, even those He was against.; even those He sent to hell.
The Jesus Dave knew saved everyone. All were in Christ— (1)
The Jesus I knew? He wanted to save everyone, even though, as I was often taught, we were unworthy, depraved, and all like Adam, prone to wander—even those of us who no longer rode the hell train.
You know about the hell train, right?
That metaphorical Freightliner I was taught about in Sunday School? The locomotive all humanity is riding; all humanity except for those who prayed the prayer? You know, The Courier of souls? The Iron Horse to eternal punishment? The Death Diesel of Damnation we must convince sinners to de-board before they pass that last and final station?
You haven’t heard of this train?
Seriously?
Dave hadn’t heard of it either, which was strange because, based on his tattoos, he’d ridden it hard.
My point? Dave was a returned prodigal. He’d discovered our Father’s kindness in his darkest of days, and it led him home. He knew the wages of sin; he knew about hell too, which wasn’t metaphorical.
He also knew the embrace of reconciling love; he’d tasted the measureless “Father, forgive them” nature of Jesus. (2) He knew grace wasn’t earned or balanced; it was received.
Dave didn’t have my 18 years of Evangelical older brother indoctrination. He didn’t seem to know or care about striving for the Jesus who saved us from a sin-counting Father who demanded a gruesome payment in blood and death.
Dave seemed to know God in a way I didn’t. His faith was practical, easy, authentic. No striving, just being. No trying to love, just loving.
Dave, and my time with him, was an Emmaus Road in my life, a radical de-, and reconstruction. He was a GPS recalculation. I grew up knowing Jesus loved me, and I grew up knowing Jesus as my best friend, but in those six months I roadied with Dave, I awakened to a greater love and rediscovered Jesus in ways I never knew Him.
And Johnny Cash, too.
1 Galatians 2:20
2 Luke 23:34
This article is excerpted from my book, Leaving and Finding Jesus
THERE IS NO “US OR THEM” AT THE CROSS
This podcast highlights Jason’s book, Leaving and finding Jesus, where he writes about his deconstructing faith journey. The book is Jason’s Emmaus Road discovery of a love that is reconciling all creation; a journey where he’s awakening to a burning heart while leaving every Jesus who won’t lay His life down for His friends.
This podcast features a message Jason gave at an icuTalks where he addresses trauma within the church. He confronts the myth of separation with the truth that absolutely nothing, not life or death, powers or authorities, not present or future, not our understandings, beliefs, systems, or actions, nothing separates us from the reconciling love of God.
To Pre-Purchase CLICK HERE
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To receive an early PDF copy for the purpose of endorsement, email me at, contact@afamilystory.org
To Learn More About icuTalks CLICK HERE
To Learn More About Jason’s Speaking Engagement in the San Fransisco Area on Oct 7-8 2022CLICK HERE
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Podcast intro and outro music by Wilde Assembly
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