Radically Happy

Follow-on to A Fiery Kiss: Pentecost as Our Engagement to Christ

Write as Donald Miller,
with Jesus as the Orpheus
we get angry with because He does not look back.

ChatGPT Prompt

I. I Used to Think I Was Orpheus

I used to think I was Orpheus.
The hero. The artist.
The one who could sing things back to life.

I thought faith meant rescue missions.
That my voice—my ideas, my strategies, my theology—could charm hell into letting go.
That if I just believed enough, or tried hard enough,
I could fix the broken world, fix the broken Church,
maybe even fix myself.

But then I found myself in Hadestown.

And I realized I wasn’t the one singing.
I was the one waiting.

I wasn’t Orpheus.
I was Eurydice.

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II. Hadestown: The Warmth of Chains

Hadestown doesn’t feel like hell.
It feels like control.
It feels like routine, like strategy, like systems that almost work.

It feels like meetings and budgets and followers and growth.
It feels like a Christianity you can manage.
And honestly? Sometimes that felt easier than mystery.

It was warmer than the wilderness.
Safer than love.

So I signed the deal.
And I called it ministry.

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III. Jesus as the Orpheus Who Won’t Look Back

Then He came—Jesus.
Not with fanfare. Not with a formula.
Just a strange, dangerous love
that walked right into Hadestown and said,
“Follow me.”

But here’s the thing:
He didn’t look back.

And I hated that.

I wanted Him to turn around,
to acknowledge how hard it was for me,
to slow down for my doubt,
to rescue me on my terms.

But He just kept walking.
Because He knew where He was going.

“No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the Kingdom.”
— Luke 9:62

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IV. The Church as Eurydice in a Burned Wedding Dress

We, the Church, like to think we’re the rescuer.
But we’re often the rescued.
Not because we’re weak—but because we’ve forgotten who we are.

We traded communion for control.
Revelation for relevance.
The cross for comfort.

And now we’re mad that Jesus won’t turn around and coddle our compromise.

But He’s not here to coddle us.
He’s here to marry us.

“I wed you for you.”
— Mrs. Jesus 3/7: Wed-ness Day

He doesn’t turn back
because He knows we are no longer slaves.
We are the Bride.
And it’s time we learned to walk again.

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V. What I Couldn’t See

I couldn’t see what I was made for.

Not to be pitied,
but to be partnered.

Not to be saved from hell,
but to walk out of it, step by trembling step,
with His voice ahead of me and His Spirit within me.

“The gates of Hades will not overcome it.”
— Matthew 16:18

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VI. The New Song

So I’m done pretending to be Orpheus.
I am Eurydice.
The Church is Eurydice.

And we’re not waiting to be dragged out anymore.
We’re following the One who never looked back
—because He already sees who we’re becoming.

Not victims.
Not commodities.
But co-creators in a Kingdom that begins
where the old world ends.