The Pardoner's Tale

And this is it

2011-09-24T12:21:00.000-04:00

According to my stats this will be my 300th post. Actually it's likely much more; I've been known to delete posts after writing them if I deemed the writing unusually bad or nasty. See, untitled niece, I do know how to censor myself.

This blog started in 2005 and had its roots in a series of emails I sent to my friend Jennifer. She asked me a simple question- what did you like and dislike about the churches you've been to? I took her question and wrote four lengthy emails on the subject, likely more than she wanted to know, but it provided an outlet for me to articulate some of the feelings I had about some of my religious experiences.

It was not long afterward that I was contacted by a reporter for the local newspaper who was doing a story about bloggers in Elyria. Did I want my story in the newspaper? As a good attention-seeking man I said "oh, h*ll yeah". Not in so many words, but you get the gist. Seeing as how I was the only one willing to travel to the newspaper's offices to get my picture taken, my photo and blog were the lead in the story.

I continued to account for my travels and travails within the world of Christian churches, but eventually my story came to an end and I went on to different subjects. I took on the subject of why God allowed Hurricane Katrina via a stream-of-consciousness blog entry and was raked over the coals by a popular conservative evangelical blog. I dared to question whether a 13-year-old really heard God tell him to not celebrate his birthday because aborted babies didn't have a birthday, and was put on permanent ban by his father from ever commenting again.

And then came the subject that has consumed my life for eight years now- autism. My children are both autistic. Doesn't mean they draw real good, either. It means that while fathers and mothers get to take their children to soccer practice and leave them with babysitters while they catch dinner and a movie, my wife and I get to sit home and clean the poop off the walls. It means that while new parents rejoice in their child's first words, I'm still waiting. It's a disorder that pretty much takes over your life- because it has to. I can't not change my 11-year-old's diapers. I can't ignore the fact that my daughter will not be able to tell us when she has her first period, it will just happen, and we will be left to explain to a girl that can't understand why she's bleeding four days per month.

So I wrote about it. Started writing one morning as the kids were getting ready for school, posted right before the bus came, and then looked at it and said to myself, "This is good." Had the nerve to send the story right to the managing editor of the local newspaper, and soon I found myself with my first published writing. "A Father's Story" became part of a Sunday feature on autism, and I became some sort of fatherhood hero.

But I'm not a hero, I'm not a savior, forget what you're told. I'm just a man whose circumstances went beyond his control.

When people started reading my blog, some of them started getting upset. My wife's parents had people at church asking them if I had abandoned Christ. My mother would offer me subtle suggestions about what I should and should not write about. My former pastor's wife was offended by something I wrote but wouldn't tell me about it directly. And then writer's block set in. I didn't want to start flame wars among my relations, so I avoided certain topics, and that was my downfall. Sometimes you just have to write and let the pieces fall where they may.

So this blog is played out. I need something different to refresh my writing skills, I need to be able to take on topics such as racism and politics and steroids in baseball and the aberration that is OPS, and even cuss if I have to. If someone labels me as a lefty or a righty or a teenie-weenie-inbetweenie and doesn't want to talk to me, that's their problem. Not mine.

Ladies and gentlemen, take my advice. Take off your pants and slide on the ice.

90 – Miracle Mile- Guardian

2011-06-24T17:05:00.000-04:00

Where Stryper paved the way, Guardian was soon to follow.

Enigma Records, Stryper’s label in 1985, signed Guardian after an associate of Stryper passed along a demo tape of the band. Their first album, First Watch, betrayed their Stryper connection as it imitated the melodic metal Stryper was making popular. I heard it and passed. I had already heard the same album from a dozen other bands.

After an extensive tour, two of the members left the band, and the remaining members asked to be released from their contract. Two new members joined, including a new lead singer, and they began working with the production team of John and Dino Elefante. With a new production team and a new singer came a new sound, not quite the glam/hair metal of the first album. Fire and Love was overwhelmingly received; a 1992 tour with Stryper helped the band achieve new levels of popularity. I didn’t pick this one up for a long time, the memories of their first album leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

And then Miracle Mile was released, and I gave it a listen in the demo booth. Miracle Mile featured more of a classic rock/blues influence married to hard rock, with more grooves and less volume for volume’s sake. And I dug it. I still include it on road trips when I need to get motivated.

91 – Chagall Guevera S/T

2011-06-23T13:07:00.000-04:00

Coconut as a food I can’t stand. Coconut’s as a music establishment… another story.

Steve Taylor was a minister’s son who graduated from high school in 1976. He enrolled in Biola University in California. During his freshman year in college he was chosen to attend a music camp run by John Davidson, where he learned singing from such luminaries as Tony Orlando, Florence Henderson and Davidson himself. But it was the release of The Clash’s London Calling album that changed his life musically. Taylor left Biola and enrolled in the University of Colorado at Boulder, where he graduated with a degree in music and theater, and a minor in culture shock.

Taylor became part of the third incarnation of Christian music which attempted to speak to the current generation not only in their musical language but their cultural language as well. In 1982 he performed at a Christian music seminar in Denver and was immediately signed to a record contract. His first album, an EP entitled I Want To Be A Clone, was released that year. He released three more full-length albums, the story of which may or may not be told in future installments, and left the Christian music industry in the late 80’s.

Enter Chagall Guevara. The band took its name from revolutionary Che Guevara and artist Marc Chagall, and consisted of Steve Taylor along with four other members of the Christian music community who wished to start a rock band from the ground up, not relying on past reputation, and not relying on the Christian marketing machine to garner album sales. It was all about the music. They performed in clubs and artist showcases and ended up being signed to MCA.

I knew that Chagall Guevara was Taylor’s latest project, but I didn’t know about the release of their debut album until I read a three-star review of it in Rolling Stone. After reading that issue at the public library I shot out to the mall where one record store after another didn’t have it. But Coconut’s did, and Coconut’s earned my $11.98 that day.

This was great rock and roll, a little REM here, a little Clash there, wrapped up in catchy hooks and Taylor’s unique lyrical content. Songs like “Escher’s World” (Up's down, down is out, out is in/ Stairways circle back to where you've been/ Time falls, water crawls, are you listening?), “Play God” (You buy prestige/ And spread decline/ You ought to swim the channel/ You stroke so fine) and “The Rub of Love” (Every other week on visiting day/ I get tolerated by his new wife/ I swear, if he ever really held me/ They'd have to pry me off with the jaws of life) were like nothing I had heard in the Christian world before, including from Taylor himself.

Alas, the first Chagall Guevara album turned out to be their last, the band chewed up and spit out by a music marketing machine that didn’t know what to do with them. Steve Taylor retired from performing for several years and concentrated on producing some of The Newsboys best albums, as well as running his own label and getting the band Sixpence None The Richer pushed to the moon. He returned to his own music in 1994, releasing one final album before moving on to other ventures.

92 – Murder By Pride- Stryper

2011-06-22T11:47:00.000-04:00

First appearance by Stryper on this list. It won’t be the last.

Stryper may have just been one of a number of hair bands of the 80’s, except for two things- the yellow and black stripes, and the fact that they flung Bibles into the audience. They signed to a mainstream label in 1984, released five albums between 1984 and 1990, and then went on hiatus when Michael Sweet went solo.

2005 saw rumors of a Stryper reunion, which became fact with the release of the album Reborn. Reborn was not just a spiritual metaphor for this band, they really did seem to find a new groove on this album, rocking as hard as they ever had. Reborn came, Reborn went.

In 2006 news came of a new Stryper album in the works. Days before recording was to begin, Michael Sweet’s wife was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and the album was put on hold for more important concerns. When Kyle Sweet’s cancer went into remission, the band proceeded.

Sad news for rock and roll fans came in 2007 with the news of the suicide of Brad Delp, Boston’s lead singer. A tribute concert was planned, and Michael Sweet was asked to sing with Boston for this show. He later joined the band as co-lead vocalist.

Kyle Sweet’s cancer returned in 2008, and in March of 2009 she passed away.

With the tumultuous events of the past three years behind them, Stryper released the album Murder By Pride in 2009, with the highlight being their cover of Boston’s song “Peace of Mind”, featuring Tom Scholz on guitar. Michael Sweet makes it plain on this song why he was asked to join Boston; I don’t know of many rock vocalists who have the range Brad Delp had.

In the same way that To Hell With The Devil expanded upon the strengths of Stryper’s first full-length album Soldiers Under Command, Murder By Pride improves on Reborn by leaps and bounds. One thing Stryper has always done well is match up hard rock with hooks and grooves. Michael Sweet’s vocals have matured; he still manages a powerful range, but without the screaming and shrieking from years gone by.

93 – The Last Temptation- Alice Cooper

2011-06-21T09:29:00.000-04:00

This is where my criteria for what to include in my top 100 Christian albums could take a beating. But you know? My blog, my rules :)

Is there a rock music fan who doesn’t know who Alice Cooper is? Born Vincent Furnier, he took the stage name Alice Cooper and was one of the first musicians to marry theatricality to rock music. Groups like Kiss owe Alice Cooper a debt of gratitude.

Alice Cooper fell victim to the lifestyle of excess that many 70’s rock stars pursued. Alcoholism affected his career and his marriage, and almost took his life. In the process of kicking the alcohol habit, in the 80’s he embraced Christianity. The Last Temptation is rooted in that belief.

The concept album presents a morality tale featuring the character Steven, who is simply looking for a good time. He meets up with The Showman, who says that in order to see a good time at the theatre he must sell his soul to him. The Showman presents Steven with a picture of how his life will be if he doesn’t follow him, and what Steven can expect if he does.

Steven becomes aware that the Showman could very well be the devil himself, and struggles with the temptation to be part of the show. In the song “Stolen Prayer”, co-written with Chris Cornell of Soundgarden, Steven cries out:

You showed me your paradise
And your carnival of souls
But my heart keeps telling me
That ain't the place to go
Well, I'm not invincible
So I want you to leave
Well, I'm so convincible
But have I been deceived

I take your words and try them on
Yeah, it's a perfect fit, boy
You tell me one size fits us all
Yeah, like an old straightjacket
Well, tell me why I'm so afraid
All my words are spoken
In a stolen prayer

In the end he resists the Showman, who continues to tempt him, but now he has the power to resist:

What about truth
What about life
What about glory
What about Christ
What about peace
What about love
What about faith in God above
What about war
What about hell
What if I stumble
What if I fell
What about blood
What about greed
And all of these things you're offering me

Yeah, what about me, little me
You lose and I win
You couldn't suck me in
It's over, you have no power
You’re lost
And I'm found
And I'm Heaven bound
Go back to where you belong
To where you fell
Go to hell
---“Cleansed By Fire”

This album is fantastic. By presenting his faith in this way, Alice Cooper taps into universal themes such as the struggle between good and evil. The album can be seen as a Christian parable or merely good storytelling. If you have preconceived notions of Alice Cooper, you need to check this one out.

94 – Revelation- Darrell Mansfield Band

2011-06-20T08:08:00.000-04:00

Darrell Mansfield is one of the veterans of Christian music, having started in 1976 with the group Gentle Faith. He formed the Darrell Mansfield Band soon thereafter. He has gone from rock to pop to traditional and electric blues.

In the early 80’s I discovered a small mom-and-pop Christian bookstore called Living Words, in the back of an office building in North Ridgeville. I was 19, but not sitting on a whole lot of money, but that was OK. At the time the major Christian labels had stickers on music product that you could collect and redeem for free tapes. And boy did I take advantage of that program. Popped Revelation into the player, heard some screaming guitars, and waited no longer to redeem five stickers for it.

Revelation stands out in the Darrell Mansfield catalogue as the hardest rock he ever attempted. A couple of attempts at heavy metal don’t really work, but for a good road trip hard rock album, it jams. His harmonica makes an appearance on several tracks, “Give It Up” being a great example. “Jesus Will Reign” makes for a great rock worship song. But the highlight song for me is the last track, “Waiting”. Acoustic guitar begins the song written as an exhortation from the Lord to his people to be ready, you know not the day or the hour. The guitars build in intensity throughout, and the vocal harmonies give off a Boston vibe.

Darrell concentrates on the blues these days. After a couple of well-received blues albums with Glenn Kaiser, he recorded some of his own, and also plays harmonica for blues artists recording in Southern California. His blues albums are good, but this album in particular holds a lot of memories for me as a new believer who wanted something that rocked as well as spoke to a faith that was becoming the central point of my life.

I shopped at Living Words for 20 years, until the Internet era brought on a different retail model and killed a lot of the mom-and-pop stores. Not sure what Ray, Sonya, Jeff, Jodi and Ellis are doing now, time and circumstances long since erasing our connections. Thanks for the memories, guys, as well as giving me a place to spend a heck of a lot of money.

95 – Struggle- Six Feet Deep

2011-06-18T22:35:00.003-04:00

This is the only spot on the top 100 in which I knew the band members. Therefore I have to make a disclaimer here- interpretations of events are my own.

It was 1992. I was working at Marco’s Pizza as a delivery guy…err… “service representative”. I was getting turned on to a lot of different styles of music thanks to Living Words bookstore and Heaven’s Metal magazine. It was on one of those music buying jags that I frequently took that I saw a flyer up on a bulletin board- Living Sacrifice was coming to Euclid. Well, I didn’t get to see too many Christian concerts, and metal shows generally didn’t make it past California or New York. Occasionally a place in Columbus would bring a band in, but that was 3 hours away. There was no way I was missing this show.

Someone forgot to tell my manager at Marco’s that I had a concert to attend. I worked lunch most days, and I should have been able to get out with plenty of time to drive to Euclid. Think again. I left work at 7PM, and the concert was at 7:30. I went home long enough to change my shirt and get my ticket, and then I broke all kinds of laws to get there by 7:40. The opening band, Weeping Prophet, had already taken the stage.

In between bands I went to the lobby to check out their merchandise table. As I signed up for their mailing list I noticed that several addresses ahead of me had Elyria as a hometown. This was cool. I had to figure out a way to meet these guys, although I had no idea who they were. Somehow I had to make this work.

The hand of fate intervened for me. The promoter had a drawing for free stuff which I had entered. The winners of most of the free stuff? A group of guys in the front row, whose names matched the names on the mailing list, the guys from Elyria. After Circle of Dust played their second or third ever set, I found the guys in the lobby. Myk, Mike, Tom, Matt, Joanne, Cheryl, Lesley, Leslie… I think they were all there, possibly some others whose names I can’t remember. But Myk, Mike Tom and Matt for sure. After discussing some bands and shamelessly mentioning that I too was from Elyria, Ohio, they mentioned that they had a Bible study going, and would I like to come? Hmm… hell yeah I wanted to come.

This was my introduction to the band Six Feet Deep, a hardcore band from my hometown. I went to the Bible study, which was led by Johnny, another musician who was from Los Angeles. He married a woman named Tracy I believe, and they moved back to Tracy’s hometown of Amherst. I was certainly the odd man out in this group of Christians, where the average tattoo rate was probably three per person and the body piercing… let’s just say more than me. Of course, it isn’t hard to get more than zero. But it wasn’t a clique thing, which is what I feared. Instead , it was all about the Bible and the fellowship. They were friendly and welcomed me in, and I was able to cross “Become friends with a punk band” off my bucket list.

I began attending their band rehearsals. It was fascinating to watch songs progress from simple guitar lick to fully finished with lyrics. I remember one in particular, a song based on Psalm 69 called “Valley of Salt”. They played one groove over and over… and over… and over, but the end result was a great tune. They weren’t just about playing fast, but matching fast and hard playing with hooks and grooves. My favorite song of theirs, “Out of the Wreck”, even featured a little rap. (If one of the guys in the band is reading this, does this song exist anywhere? My demo tape has long since worn out.)

They eventually were signed to REX Records, a Christian label which specialized in metal and hard rock acts, and recorded their first full-length album Struggle. And for the first time in my life, my name was listed in the “special thanks to…” section of an album. They worked hard to get to this point, and I rejoiced with them.

We hung out together, eating breakfast at Country Kitchen after Bible study many times. I drove some of them to Michigan for a concert one Saturday afternoon, where I got an intimate look at the drummer as he mooned our car down a Michigan highway. The relationships I formed were what I envisioned church to be in my idealistic mind. (Except for the mooning.) But time marches on. In 1993 I decided to move out of town and pursue a master’s degree in theology. Somewhere along the line the Bible study group scattered to the four winds. Marriage entered the picture for some. I soon lost track of this little group of Christians whose presence in my life for that short year made a world of difference to me.

I ran into Matt at the Record Exchange several years later and he updated me on the whereabouts of the group. A couple of the guys formed a new group called Brandston, and later on Swarm of Bats. A couple of the guys were out of music altogether. Unfortunately, one woman, a very talented photographer who was one of the nicest women you were ever going to meet, had been killed in a car accident. Not sure who was still attending church and who wasn’t, but at the time I ran into Matt I wasn’t, so who was I to judge?

So to Myk, Mike, Matt, Matt, Tom, Johnny, John, Leslie, Lesley, Cheryl, Joanne, Tracy, Amy, and whoever else whose name is slipping my mind, thank you. You made a crappy year of my life a little more enjoyable and full of life and fun. And Cherie, God rest your soul, you were a very fun woman who I miss. I wish you were still with us.

Sometimes the album becomes more about the context in which I hear it than the album itself.

96 – Face The Music- Mylon LeFevre and Broken Heart

2011-06-18T06:13:00.000-04:00

Mylon LeFevre was born into a family which was a legacy in Southern Gospel music, although he only recorded one album in the Southern Gospel vein. As a 17-year-old, he achieved a certain amount of fame and fortune when Elvis Presley recorded his song “Without Him”. Soon a number of artists recorded the song and the royalties started pouring in. But Southern Gospel was not what he wanted his musical future to be. He wanted to speak to his generation in their language- he wanted to record a rock album. In 1969 he recorded the album We Believe, and became somewhat of an outsider in both his church and his family.
In 1970 Mylon signed with Atlantic Records and released several albums over the decade, the most well-known being an album with Alvin Lee entitled On The Road To Freedom, featuring guest musicians such as George Harrison, Steve Winwood and Ron Wood. He also acquired a heavy drug habit, almost dying of a heroin overdose in 1973. He entered a drug treatment program that year and came out clean.

In 1980 he gave his life to the Lord at a concert by the group 2nd Chapter of Acts. He chose to give up the music industry at that point, giving up all of his royalties and taking a job as a janitor at his church. In 1982 he began to write music again and formed the band Broken Heart with members of his church.

Face The Music was released in 1988. It took me awhile to warm up to this one, which is one reason I originally listed it in the 101-125 list. Side 1 (remember album sides?) is decent pop-rock music, ending with the worship song “Mercy Seat”. Side 2 begins with a Bruce Hornsby-soundalike song entitled “Again and Again”. A really good song, but the Bruce Hornsby-like pianos are all over it. After the mellow “Again and Again”, the song “Change” comes barreling out of the speakers, a powerful song both in the intensity of the music as well as the expression of the heart of man to change.

I am not the man I will be
When He cracks the sky
Bit I know I'm getting closer
Here's the reason why
Jesus wrote new legislation
In my state of mind
Giving me a revelation
Every day I find
I've got a change
Thank You Lord, I've got a change of heart

The next song, “Rock of Safety”, takes the intensity down a little. The final song, “Lamb of God”, is still being sung in churches 20 years later. The lyrics are simple, expressing John the Baptist’s proclamation in John 1:29- “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” We sang this song many times in college fellowship groups, where one acoustic guitar and simple songs could bring heaven to earth.

Mylon LeFevre will show up in this countdown again. His music has had as much effect on my early Christian life as any other group in this countdown.

97 – Revival- David Mullen

2011-06-17T06:37:00.004-04:00

In 1989 I discovered a folk duo whose music changed my life. I had been sticking with mainly Christian music at the time, but after seeing a video on MTV (when the M stood for “music”) for a song titled “Closer To Fine” I thought I might have found the next U2- you know, a group of Christians trying to sneak in under the radar. And when I bought the cassette simply titled Indigo Girls, and heard songs like “Prince of Darkness” (“I will not be a pawn for the prince of darkness any longer”) I was sure of it. At that time in my life I felt like I had to justify my entertainment choices by the Christian content.

I was getting frustrated with the Christian music being produced. The arguments about Christian music being of less quality musically don’t hold water with me now, but they certainly had merit at one time, and this was one of those times. The lyrics “God knows the way/ you’d better stick like glue” were the last straw. I wasn’t going to buy any more Christian music until they could give me something better. Indigo Girls and Tracy Chapman were giving me more meat than the Village Preacher bookstore could supply me.

Just when I thought I was out… they keep pulling me back in.

Back then you could go into the Christian bookstore, slip on some headphones and give tapes a listen before you bought one. Just out of curiosity, and a tad bit of boredom, I stopped in and started through the cycle of new releases. Bleh… bleh…bleh… hmm, wait a minute, let me fast forward this one… oh wow… oh man, this is actually some decent rock and roll here! The tape I was listening to- Revival by David Mullen.

David Mullen had a good blues-pop-rock thing going on that album. The first song, “Revival”, was decent, but the second song “Sho Love You” kicked things up a notch. Had I stopped there, I would have missed the gold, but fortunately I flipped the tape and heard “Fallen World”, “The Blood” and the highlight, “Live So God Can Use You”. Prayers that kick ass. I can dig that.

David Mullen won the Dove Award in 1990 for Best New Artist. I haven’t been able to find a list of nominees for that year, but I can guarantee you that either the field was weak that year or someone was asleep at the wheel, because back then rock artists just didn’t win any of the big awards.

I waited two whole years for the follow-up, and the Christian music industry didn’t disappoint me, sanitizing David Mullen’s sound to a brightly polished sheen. Oh man. He released one more album two years after that which I never even bothered with for several years, until I could get it in the discount rack for a buck. He hasn’t recorded since then, although he is a prolific songwriter and producer. He is better known as being Mr. Nicole C. Mullen.

Hey, I like Nicole C., but I miss that sound.

98 – West Coast Diaries volume II- Charlie Peacock

2011-06-16T08:31:00.000-04:00

The Christian music scene has gone through several stages of development over the years. In the late 60’s-early 70’s you had what was called “Jesus Music”. Young people were coming out of the 60’s and taking different paths. One of those paths was a religious revival known as the Jesus Movement. Instead of getting a haircut and wearing a tie like a good God-fearing Christian stereotype, they chose to come as they were, and bring their friends just as they were. Another thing they brought with them was their music. Music was the language of the revolution. What better way to testify to the power of Christ than the language people spoke?

In the mid to late 70’s the simplicity of Jesus Music became the business of Contemporary Christian Music. It slowly began to make its way into Christian bookstores. Labels were formed for distribution, and magazines were formed for publicity. And eventually, as is the case with most “revolutionary” movements, the rebels became the establishment. And when the establishment pushes hard….

… the next generation pushes back. The third stage of Christian Music took place in the mid-80’s and consisted not only of a shift towards punk and new wave music, but also a shift in attitude. T-Bone Burnett once stated that you could sing about the light, or you could sing about what you saw because of the light. And a new generation wanted to shed the “churchy” reputation and make the music they enjoyed listening to, the music that was popular at that time and not five years previous. This has never been anything new, whether you are talking about music, politics, or other issues of life. The establishment wants to hold onto the power and the revolution wants to take the power, not realizing or just not caring to realize that the attitudes they condemn are the attitudes they will be holding ten years later. “Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.”

Charlie Peacock was part of that mid-80’s paradigm shift in Christian music. He comes from a jazz background and brings that to the pop music stew. His first albums were released on A&M; a third album was released on Island but was lost in the post-Joshua Tree shuffle. Going independent, he released a series of three cassettes known as the West Coast Diaries. Volumes 1 and 3 contained pop/jazz/new wave music, and volume II was recorded by the Charlie Peacock Acoustic Trio (Charlie, Jimmy Abegg and the late Vince Ebo).

I’m a huge fan of acoustic music, and this won’t be the last acoustic album in the top 100. The words of Psalm 51, with the psalmist crying out for mercy and forgiveness for his sins, works marvelously in an acoustic context. This album works best for me late at night, when the body gets sleepy and the thoughts get mellow. I would love to see some of these songs make their way into worship services. Music directors, make it happen.

Charlie has moved from the revolution to the establishment, becoming a highly successful producer in Nashville. I can’t say that I’ve liked everything that he’s recorded since, but I appreciate the mix of styles to form a unique blend.

Vince Ebo, you are missed.

99 – Apostolic Prayers- IHOP Worship Team

2011-06-15T07:37:00.001-04:00

Before anyone asks, no, not the pancake restaurant.

The International House of Prayer was founded by Mike Bickle in 1999 as a place for prayer and worship music to go on 24 hours a day. Different teams of musicians take two hour blocks, and “intercessory missionaries” live at the center, making prayer their full-time occupation. Sort of a modern twist on monasticism, without the celibacy.

This is a different kind of album. Six tracks, each one focused on a different passage of Scripture. One guy reads different portions of the passage throughout the track, with a female singer singing not only the passage but extemporaneous prayers inspired by the Scripture verses; the band plays in the background. It works very well. When I need some material for meditation purposes this is one of the albums on my list.
Colossians 3:16 says “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God.” IHOP manages to put that verse in action very well.

This is an example of one of the songs on the album, based on Ephesians 1:16-19. The editing of the video isn’t that great but the song is good.

100 – Day of Fire S/T

2011-06-14T07:16:00.001-04:00

Day of Fire’s lead singer, Josh Brown, formerly sang lead with the band Full Devil Jacket. After surviving a heroin overdose he made changes in his life, giving his life to Christ, and forming Day of Fire. Their debut album was released in 2004.

There are times when you just need something to express the cry of your heart.

I stumbled upon this album at a time when things were particularly difficult in life. My son had been diagnosed as autistic early in 2004, and my wife and I were still working out all of the nuances as to what that even meant. And then my two-year-old daughter was suspected of having developmental delays. We had wanted a large family, but now I wasn’t sure that I wanted to populate the special education services of the county. My beloved grandmother had passed away, and I was out of a job. The stress was wreaking havoc on my relationship with my wife. My marriage was circling the toilet bowl. And then the band Day of Fire entered my radar screen.

The song “Cornerstone”, the requisite power ballad off the album, spent a lot of time in heavy rotation on my computer and on several mix CD’s. I can remember driving to church, thinking that I didn’t even want to be making that drive, that me and Jesus needed to renegotiate our contract, and this song coming on. I’m a big fan of 90’s-era grunge and hard rock, and Day of Fire carries a definite Nirvana-Stone Temple Pilots vibe. Sometimes you need to rock hard and Day of Fire met that need for me in 2004 and 2005.

The song “Run”, from their second album Cut and Move, was the theme song for the WWE Pay-per-view event Unforgiven in 2006. They released one more album, Losing All, before going on indefinite hiatus. Josh Brown has done reunion shows with Full Devil Jacket and formed a new band, A New Rebel.

My Top 100 Favorite Christian Albums

2011-06-13T15:00:00.001-04:00

I’ve always been a music fan. From the days of the Bay City Rollers, to the Captain and Tennille, to the hottest band in the world- KISS!; from Casey Kasem and American Top 40 on WGCL to music blogs and file-sharing services, I have always had a decent collection of music going of various genres and bands.

I remember the first album I bought on my own. We had been visiting our relatives in upper Michigan, and some of those cousins happened to be Circus Magazine reading, long-hair wearing, 1970’s rock music fans. And one of those bands just happened to be Kiss. Well, Kiss made quite an impression on me, and I wanted a Kiss album to call my very own. So when we came back down to lower Michigan to resume our lives and shop at Kmart as a family, I wasn’t interested in household goods or furniture; there was only one area I wanted to check out, and that was the area that sold 12-inch circular slabs of vinyl. I wanted…

"You can look at the records, but no Kiss!" my father intoned authoritatively.

Well, crap. That's the group I wanted. So I did what any rational 11-year-old boy would do when he wanted his own way- I threw a fit in the middle of K-mart. Having two children of my own who are prone to fits, I know how embarrassing they can be to a parent. At the time, of course, I didn't care. I had the allowance money available, and I wanted a Kiss album! I wanted a Kiss album! Soon my father relented, with the understanding that under no circumstances would the volume approach the level appreciated by Dan and Don. "Sure," I said with a wink. I would just wait until you weren't home. With the deal struck I was allowed to peruse the rock music selections, and I left the store with a copy of Love Gun, Kiss' latest effort.

I was entering a whole new world, a world where parents refused to enter and we didn't want them there anyway. I wasn't a teen yet, but I was on the fast track. And the 10 questions on my entrance exam concerned Plaster Casters and Love Guns, bass guitar players who were Almost Human and had Love For Sale, Hooligans and sixteen-year-old girls named Christine. I had just become a buck private in the Kiss Army.

Over the course of the next few years I discovered other bands. Queen informed me concerning the News of the World. AC/DC entered my life on a Highway To Hell and made a return trip Back In Black. Boston… Fleetwood Mac… REO Speedwagon…. My music choices were never the most popular ones out there. At a time when I was obsessed with getting attention and becoming popular, when it came to rock bands I gave no quarter. I liked what I liked. If you didn’t like it, you were the one missing out. Not me.

When I was 14 years old I went on my very first religious retreat. It was called a F.I.R.E. retreat, the meaning of the acronym escaping my memory at the moment, and it had its roots in the Marriage Encounter movement. Obviously kids and teens wouldn’t be attending Marriage Encounter retreats anytime soon, so this was a way of reaching out to them. I signed up for this retreat at my parents urging. I don’t know if I had good or bad feelings about it, but my parents had gone to the Marriage Encounter weekend the year prior and they were as giddy as a high school cheerleader who just got asked to the prom by the quarterback, so their enthusiasm spilled over and I decided to go. What the heck. Might even be able to pick up a girl there.

The weekend ended up being a pivotal moment in my spiritual life. There were two things about it in particular that have stuck in my mind to this day. One was a guy named Ted Thiry. I’ve written about him before. Ted, if you are out there, if you or somebody you know finds this blog by Googling your name, I want you to know that you had a big impact on me. Ted was the very first bonafide Jesus Freak that I ever met. He even had the look- 70’s style long hair and a Resurrection Band t-shirt. When we passed around notebooks yearbook-style at the end of the weekend to get everyone’s signature he wrote “Jesus Saves!” in big letters on mine. He was a walking, talking, living, breathing commercial for Jesus Christ. And that was attractive to me. His enthusiasm was contagious. I wanted to be around him. He wasn’t just talking about the Lord, he wasn’t spitting out catechism phrases by rote, it meant something to him.

The other part of the weekend that made an impression on me was the Saturday night Mass. After spending the better part of two days talking with each other encounter-group style, with laughter and tears and plenty of hugs, we shared the liturgy together. And I will swear to my dying day that the liturgy is most meaningful when you attend with people you’ve formed a bond with. It was certainly meaningful to me, perhaps the first time that I ever encountered the Mass as my own person as opposed to being an attachment of my parents. It was this experience that caused me to think about the claims of God the Son on my own, apart from the way I was raised.

Jesus Christ upended my life and I became a born-again Christian. Changes came, and one of those changes concerned my listening habits. I became increasingly uncomfortable with some of the lyrical content I was ingesting. It was never about making a judgment for someone else; it was never about spinning records backwards and hearing hidden messages; my tastes and interests were changing. I went to a Christian bookstore at a local mall and in the process of looking at Bibles and books, I found music. I wasn’t interested in an album of chant or sappy-sounding hymns, but in the midst of the churchy stuff I found a title by a band whose name I recognized. Resurrection Band. The album- Colours, their third. Ted Thiry liked this band. They had to be good.

And I was off to the races.

I’m no longer 18, I’m almost 45. My views on a lot of things have changed over time, but one thing has not- I really don’t care what people think about my music choices, I like what I like. And I like Christian music. I’m not a Christian music proselytizer; I don’t try to get people to substitute their stuff with sound-alike choices. You are all grown-ups, listen to what you want to listen to. I don’t care.

But as for me, I like Christian music. I don’t try to define what qualifies and what doesn’t. I make the decision for me.

So in the interest of reviving this blog and trying to exercise whatever writing skills I might have left, I am going to expound on my top 100 favorite Christian albums. My blog, my choices, my rules :) Your mileage may vary. If you aren’t particularly religious, that’s cool, read anyway. Thanks to the Internet there probably isn’t an album here you won’t be able to find for free. Not that I condone that sort of thing :)

As a quick preface, here are some of the albums that didn’t make the cut, numbers 101-125.

101 Fathom - Mortal

102 This Means War - Petra

103 Morning Like This - Sandi Patti

104 Songs From The Heart - Sandi Patti

105 The Last Temptation - Alice Cooper

106 Straight Ahead - Amy Grant

107 Commander Sozo and the Charge of the Light Brigage - DeGarmo and Key

108 D&K - DeGarmo and Key

109 Live Experience - Leon Patillo

110 Malcolm and Alwyn Live - Malcolm and Alwyn

111 Face The Music - Mylon LeFevre

112 Live and Learn - Paul Smith

113 On Fire - Petra

114 Pray - Rebecca St. James

115 Awaiting Your Reply - Resurrection Band

116 Hostage - Resurrection Band

117 Godspell - Various Artists

118 Soul Asylum - Ransom

119 Light Maneuvers - Servant

120 Come To The Quiet - John Michael Talbot

121 Heaven Calling - Halo

122 Blood - Red Sea

123 Boys and Girls Renounce The World - Undercover

124 The Violet Burning - Violet Burning

125 Save Me From Myself - Brian "Head" Welch

It’s hard to make lists like this. Man was it difficult to leave that Alice Cooper album out of the top 100. The Brian “Head” Welch album rocks hard.

Stay tune for number 100.

Evelyn

2011-04-01T07:13:00.001-04:00

Evelyn was a dear aunt of ours even though we lived most of our life across the country from her. From the time I was very young I was always told "oh, you look just like Evelyn". Every time we watched the slides -"pictures on the wall"- I heard "Oh, you remind me so much of Evelyn!" And little did we know from that point on that we would turn out very much alike in many ways. Theatre is a big part of my life as well, and we've just had that connection throughout the time that I've been involved with that and I think that every time I step on stage I'll still remember that part of her.
---Darcie

We had had this disconnection for a long time because of the miles, but thank God for the Internet! She had been helping us make arrangements when our grandfather passed away, and over the past five years the connection remained. A couple times a month we'd email her, or she'd email us, and let us know what was going on and check up on us. It just so happened that last year when I was struggling to make some sense of my daughter's attention deficit disorder, I didn't know that she was making a living out of helping in that very same area. And so she was very much our advocate across the country, letting me know what my daughter's rights were, where her abilities were, and confirming what we knew, that our daughter was very intelligent and just needed somebody to let her know it. We had forged a bond through those electronic connections; although many people think it's impersonal- it was very much personal in our case.
---Dawn

I called her Ev because I had asked her special permission to dispense with the Aunt business; I've always had a problem with that kind of formality. We became friends at a difficult time in my life when I was feeling disconnected. She pulled me back in and gave me permission to be a bit of an oddball, not because she said it out loud, but because whatever I was was all right with her, and that must have been that it was all right. I knew she was involved with the theatre and I was interested in becoming more involved in it; so as I went out on auditions and had rehearsals and performances we would share these stories about those times, and when I found out about her death all I could think about was not having somebody to share those things with. I would mention to her often that it was always a bit of a dream of mine that I would be able to come out and see her, or she would be able to come out and see me; but even though we never got to see each other perform, there will always be a seat for her in any audience that I'm in front of.

As I was preparing to come out here from Columbus, Ohio where I live, I heard so many times from family members that it will be great to see you, but we're sorry about the circumstances. And my comment was always the same; the circumstances are bad, but I'm glad, regardless of the circumstances. And when I got on my plane in Columbus heading for St. Louis for my connecting flight, a woman I was sitting next to who I had never met before sighed and said, "You know, it's good to be going home." I sat for a minute, smiled and said, "Yeah, I feel the same way."

Our family is a family of traditions; they are also a family of strong opinions and strong personalities. And it's that part of her that will stay with me. Everything she taught me, about the theatre and about myself, was just by being real with me and letting me know that there was always a place for me; she pulled me back into that and I will always be grateful for that because even though she was a part of my life for 30-some-odd years, I really only felt like in the last year I got just a glimpse of what was there.
---Marc

I've spent hours trying to think of something, trying to come up with the right combination of joke-story-quote, and finally at 11 o'clock this morning I thought, quite frankly, that I don't even want to be here. To be honest with you, I don't want to be here… because it's just not right. There's just something not right about this… there's so many things I'm never going to get to do. I received almost daily emails when my grandfather was sick and then later passed away, and in the past five years we went from the aunt/nephew relationship to a friend relationship. When my mother first called me and said Aunt Evelyn had two heart attacks and did you get an email about it? my first response was "wait a minute, let me hang up and go check my email" and then I realized "wait a minute, Evelyn always sent the emails." And every day since then I keep thinking "man, I've really got to write to Evelyn about this," because we wrote about so many things; but I can't. I've got to remind myself that's not possible now. The MacNair family is a family of tradition, and we fulfilled one of those traditions when 11 of us sat around the Chinese food table. And as I looked around that table I thought, there will always be an empty spot, right over… here…

… and my hand pointed at imaginary seats around an imaginary dining table until it pointed to my very real heart.

The death of my grandparents was somewhat expected; the death of Evelyn hit me hard. Knowing Evelyn was to encounter life. As I sat back on my bed on that day in 2001, having just heard the news that my beloved friend had suffered two heart attacks and was on life support, I didn't have an answer. I didn't have the lack of an answer. I had no complex theological explanation as to why my aunt was about to die. I had… nothing. A void. A total inability to comprehend life without life.

The paradox of death is that life stops, and life goes on. I could not explain to anyone how a piece of my heart was gone and yet I was expected to live. I could not explain to anyone how wrong it was that people were ordering hamburgers and doing 40 in a 25 zone and mall-hopping and arguing about college sports when they needed to STOP!!! Life was over, yet I was still here, and I still needed to live it. Like I said, how wrong that was.

On the 25^th of September I was given a wonderful gift, my daughter, who was named Rebecca after an Ashley Cleveland song and Evelyn after… well, you know. My children never got to meet their great-aunt (and trust me, she was a great aunt), but they had one thing in common. In one of life's rich ironies, my Aunt Evelyn was a special education teacher, and my children Matthew and Rebecca are special education students, having been born autistic. She was taken from me at the point of my life when I most needed to draw from her strengths.

On April 4, 2001, she was gone.

10 years later I still don't understand. I will never understand. Believing that she's in heaven doesn't help. Well, it doesn't help much. I need her here.

From my brother, once more, with feeling:

(Her life) was like a song that you hear once on the radio and think that it's beautiful, but you never hear it again, you don't know the name of it, but the tune is still with you and you carry it with you. And she will always be carried with me.

And anyone else whose life heard the melody of her song.

Why do we do what we do

2011-03-21T21:58:00.001-04:00

I was watching the telly the other night. Either a baseball show or a Hawaii Five-O rerun; you can't go wrong either way. In the midst of the entertainment it came time for the networks to pay the bills- commercial time. Trucks? Damn you, Bob Seger, I haven't been able to listen to Like A Rock for years. "Feminine stuff"? My daughter is eight, I don't have to worry about that yet. Outback Steakhouse? Yeah, I can deal with this.

Outback Steakhouse supports the troops! Well, tell me something I don't know. Everyone "supports the troops" these days. But Outback Steakhouse is different. If you order from the Red, White and Bloomin' menu they will use the proceeds to support the troops. Nobel cause? Possibly. But wait, there's more. In the midst of the grandstanding and back-patting, five seconds of tiny type appeared at the bottom of the screen. Thank you, DVR, you give me the ability to finally read the fine print. "5% of the proceeds of food items ordered from the Red, White and Bloomin' menu between (date 1) and (date 2) will go to (some vet group)."

What the hell?

Am I the only one who sees through this empty gesture? If a family of four decides that Uncle Jackov in Afghanistan needs their help, and therefore they will order that night's dinner from the local Outback to the tune of $80, Private Jackov and his buddies see $4. And Outback will pocket $76. Noble gesture? More like a way to prey on the country's emotions to improve their profit margin.

It gets worse. Apparently some Facebook genius has decided that it would be a fine idea to start a campaign. Facebook campaigns are a dime a dozen these days, but this one has a familiar ring- wear red on Fridays to show that "we support our troops". And to facilitate the support, companies are already marketing "support the troops" red t-shirts for the occasion. For the low price of $22, you too can show the rest of your community that you care!

Two thoughts here. One, guys in red shirts have traditionally been the ones to die first. When has Star Trek steered me wrong? This campaign wasn't thought through very well. And second…

HOW DOES WEARING A RED SHIRT SUPPORT THE TROOPS?

Seriously. How? I'll let you think about it for a moment.

OK, ready for the answer?

It doesn't. But it does make the shirt wearer appear to be caring, and that seems to be the whole point. We don't have to do anything to support the troops, as long as it looks like we do. If someone thinks we're supporting them, that's all that matters.

"But at least I'm doing something. It raises awareness."

No, you aren't doing anything! Don't you see? Wearing a red shirt does not comfort a soldier not sleeping in the desert in the dead of night because they're missing their girl. It doesn't mow the lawn of a military wife who busy with three children and one on the way. It doesn't give a hug to the seven-year-old child who is thinking "I don't give a flying rat's ass about your red shirt, my daddy promised to take me fishing and I've been waiting for two and a half years!"

And let's talk about awareness for a moment. Umm, awareness has been raised. I can't take three steps outside my house without hearing about how I need to thank the troops. I can't watch tv without hearing Gary Sinise tell me how Golden Corral is serving our troops… by giving them a free meal. When a soldier dies overseas and his/her funeral is held, the whole town comes out to be seen, err, "show support". I think we're aware.

Awareness. We substitute our Facebook profile picture for one of a Japanese flag. For awareness. We post the places we like to do the dance with no pants… err.. the places we "put our purse". For breast cancer awareness. We wear blue jeans every other Wednesday. For prostate cancer awareness. Oh wait… no, we don't. Prostate cancer doesn't have its own publicity firm. You guys with prostate cancer? You can just go sit in the corner and die. Just shove the one in a hundred male breast cancer victims out of the way.

If you aren't aware that there was a tragic earthquake in Japan… if you aren't aware that breast cancer claims… well, umm… "too damn many" lives… if you aren't aware that men die of prostate cancer and yes, even from breast cancer… then you just don't care. Wake up from your slumber and pay attention. You can't not be aware. There isn't anyone in this country who isn't aware.

Boy, I am one cold, uncaring bastard, aren't I?

Not even close.

I am the type of person who looks like he is always in a hurry. When I'm eating, I'm eating fast. When I walk, I'm walking fast, even if I'm not really headed anywhere. So when people are at the store taking a survey, or taking up a collection, I walk right on by. I have learned that if you don't meet their eye, more often than not they will leave you alone.

But there is always an exception to the rule.

I am one of the least patriotic people you are going to meet. I didn't fly a flag on Sept. 10, 2001, and I didn't suddenly "find religion" the next day. I felt like it would be hypocritical of me to start flying one just because everyone else was, even though I had no feelings for it. I support our troops- guys like Ehren Watada and Bradley Manning who had the stones to confront a corrupt regime absolutely deserve our support.

A gentleman had a table set up outside Giant Eagle recently and he was taking donations for the Lorain County Vietnam Veterans War Memorial. I decided to talk to the guy, and after a few minutes of conversation I put a $5 bill in his jar. He thanked me and asked if I would like one of the assortment of flags or bumper stickers he had on the table. I declined. I explained to him that I didn't want to show off patriotism (I didn't explain that I didn't have any). I said that I was glad that he made it back alive, and I could see a wistful look in his eyes as he stared away, just for a second, and then thanked me. My groceries and I proceeded on the journey home, with the little paper flower I bought from a World War II veteran several months ago still wrapped around my rear view mirror. The elderly man who sold me the paper flower, who had to point to the enclosed explanation because he couldn't talk, is probably close to death now and wondering why Johnny bought it on the muddy battlefields of Europe and he survived.

I know a couple whose lives have been irreparably altered by breast cancer. I wear a t-shirt with a pink ribbon on it because I love these people, but not only because I care about them and their daughters, but because I've thrown a couple hundred dollars their way and they gave me one. More than one, actually, but I'm a fat pig and can't fit in an XL shirt anymore. Had they not given me a shirt, would I have withheld the funds? Hell no. It was never about the shirt. It was about the cure. It was real support, not a phony "hey-look-at-me-I-have-American-flag-underwear-don't-I-care?" attention-grabbing scheme.

If my dining-room table has a short leg, I don't put a shirt on with a picture of a dining-room table prominently displayed. I put a book under it, to support it. I don't talk about it, I do it.

Think about it.

Grandpa Mac

2011-03-12T21:30:00.001-05:00

I had just gotten back from a record store. Had to pick up a CD box set I had been waiting on for a long time. Drove on out to Strongsville in the morning, so I could get back in time to have some messing around time before I headed to my second-shift job. When I got back to the house, I was informed that my grandfather had died the night before. March 13, 1996.

Grandpa Mac. He was Dr. A. Stanley MacNair to a great many people, but he was Grandpa Mac to me. Never Doctor, never Stan. He was Grandpa Mac, and I was Sean. Not hey you, not get out of here I have a doctorate and I have better things to do, never anything like that. Grandpa Mac.

Grandparents have a mythical reputation in the eyes of the grandchild. After all, who else can make your parents do what they say? Who else can make your parents feel guilty? Maybe my experience is a little more idealistic than most, but it's the only experience I know. I loved Grandpa Mac, and he loved me.

He wrote a book! When I was young, I thought that was very cool. When I got old enough to understand the book, I bought up every copy I could find, from Ebay, from Amazon, from Alibris, just so I could say "You know, the author of this book was my grandfather." Yeah, I name-dropped, and yeah, no one really cared. Except one.

He was a Baptist minister, but if you think you know what he was like just by my saying "Baptist minister", you don't know squat. Fire and brimstone was not his style. He was a man of words, but not wordy. And he never let you know how much "book learning" he had.

My father and I took a trip to visit my grandparents in California in 1993. We spent three days on a Greyhound bus, which I don't recommend. But we got to see my father's family, we got to eat great chinese food, I got to visit Alcatraz and see an honest-to-god Berkeley liberal protest, and I got to watch Grandpa Mac, my Aunt Helen, and my father engage in epic Scrabble battles. But one night, my father went to bed early due to catching pneumonia on the bus; my grandmother went to bed; all of the visitors went home; and there was only two. I sat in one recliner, and Grandpa Mac sat in "his chair". And we talked. We talked about religion, we talked about church history, and he listened to me. Dr. A. Stanley MacNair Jr., with a doctorate from UCLA and numerous pastorates under his belt, a man on the board of trustees of an Oklahoman college, listened. He certainly had more knowledge of church history than me, and had more life experience with different church bodies in order to place beliefs in some sort of context, but he cared about my beliefs and my church experiences. After an hour or so of discussion, he got up slowly from his chair, walked past me, but before disappearing down the hallway he laid a hand on my shoulder and cast a wordless glance that spoke volumes.

I had no idea that this visit would be the last time I saw Grandpa Mac in person. As we went back into the bus station, he looked at me and said "You came here a child, but you're leaving a man!" Of course I was a man, I was 27 years old. But until then the relationship between my California family and myself had always been child-grandparent (or aunt). That day in 1993 it became one adult to another.

1995 was my "hell year", one of many, but one in which I didn't give a whole lot of thought to writing letters to anyone. But my grandparents were never far from my mind. In January of 1996 I wrote my grandparents a long letter, explaining that I hated my job, I hated my lack of social life, and the results of that hatred put me in a psych ward for three days. Sorry, Grandma and Grandpa, I didn't have time for you. I knew Grandpa's health was failing, and his ability and/or desire to speak was declining; I knew Grandma treated thank-you notes at Christmas as if they were the Holy Grail; I just didn't make the time, selfish ass that I was.

In February of 1996 I received a phone call. My grandmother was on the other line, but she only held the phone to tell me that my grandfather had something to say to me. And the voice of my grandfather, my beloved Grandpa Mac, the voice that had been faltering progressively over the past several months, that voice spoke loudly and clearly.

"I'm not able to speak well these days. But I just wanted to tell you that I love you."

And a month later he was gone, dying at night, without family around to watch him slip away.

He picked some great last words for me to remember him by. "I just wanted to tell you that I love you."

But even without those words, I already knew.

Oremus

2011-03-11T13:21:00.001-05:00

On a mission start to doubt here we go
Kicking back, read these words we need to know
Living high, living good, living long
Take a minute, bust a prayer
And you're good to go

That's why we pray
ah, yeah, pray
We need to pray
Just to make it today
---MC Hammer, "Pray"

(Jesus Walks)
God show me the way because the Devil trying to break me down
(Jesus Walks with me)
The only thing that that I pray is that my feet don't fail me now
(Jesus Walks)
And I don't think there is nothing I can do now to right my wrongs
(Jesus Walks with me)
I want to talk to God but I'm afraid because we ain't spoke in so long
---Kanye West, "Jesus Walks"

hey, jesus, it's me
i'm the one who talked to you yesterday
and i asked you please, please for a favor
but my baby's gone away, went away anyway
and i don't really think it's fair
you've got the power to make us all believe in you
and then we call you in our despair
and you don't come through...

i'm not gonna call on you any more
i'm sure you've got a million things to do
all i was trying to do was to get through to you
because when i die and i get up to your doors
i don't even know if you're gonna let me in the place
how come i gotta die to get a chance to talk to you face to face?
---Indigo Girls, "Hey Jesus"

It happens every time there is a tragedy. Earthquakes. Shootings. 9/11. The response is the same, regardless of place in society- "Our prayers are with the people of Japan." "We pray for the people of New York." A child dies in a small town, the news appears on a website, and the comments are all very similar- "I'm so sorry! I'm praying for you."

I don't. I know, I know, I'm a Christian, I shouldn't be a heartless bastard. Prayer should be the first thing I should offer.

But I just can't.

Why do we pray? In times of tragedy everyone says that they'll pray for you, but what's the point? Is God listening? If God is listening, why doesn't he answer? I've had people say to me that "sometimes God answers yes, and sometimes no, and sometimes wait", and my response to that is that it's a load of crap. If God (supposedly) answers no or wait, then he didn't answer. Ignore my son's autism for a moment. Let's say that I ask him to take the garbage out on Wednesday night, because the trash collector comes Thursday morning. He takes it out Thursday night. Did he answer my request? No, he did not. It doesn't matter that he did the job, the job needed to be done at a certain time and he didn't do it. Same with praying to God. If someone is down on their luck and prays to God for a job, a request born not out of selfishness but out of necessity, and they do what needs to be done to seek a job, and said job doesn't come for a year and a half, then God didn't answer that prayer. Or at best you can say that the evidence is inconclusive.

How about prayers for healing? Why do we have to pray over and over again for someone to be healed of cancer, for instance? What's the point? Doesn't God hear you the first time? And suppose you pray and pray, and the person dies anyway? Your prayers are wasted. Already I can hear people saying "but the person did get healed…they aren't in pain anymore…they received the ultimate healing…" blah blah blah. My answer is no, they did not get healed and God did not answer the prayer. To answer any other way is to dance around the issue. You're playing semantics. God then becomes a divine Bill Clinton who dances around the obvious meaning of a word. (See the word "is".) If I pray for someone to be healed, my intention is obvious. I want them healed in this life. Any other twist on the statement is just making excuses for God.

I have made numerous trips to Rainbow Babies and Children's Hospital with my son. While there I've seen small children in wheelchairs in what seems to be a catatonic state, the same expression seemingly frozen on their faces for all eternity. They don't care about LeBron James… or maybe they do; Charlie Sheen is the last thing on their mind… or maybe not; we don't know. They don't communicate other than to stare. For some people their first response would be to offer their prayers. My first thought?

WTF?

How am I supposed to pray here? First off, I shouldn't even have to pray for healing. If God can't see that this kid needs healing… it's obvious to anyone with eyes and half a brain. Do I pray for the parents to have peace of mind? Do I pray for the doctors to have wisdom? I mean, come on!

And yet throughout the Bible we are exhorted to pray. Jesus says "WHEN you pray," not IF, and then gives instructions. The disciples ask Jesus to teach them to pray. Paul says "Pray without ceasing." So my struggle is this- I know that I need to pray, yet I have issues with praying for things, because there doesn't seem to be much of a point. You pray for healings, but for as many people that do get healed, more people suffer and die. Or they get healed in a year, although in the natural process of things they would have been healed anyway. You pray for people that genuinely need certain things, and they don't get them. I just don't get it.

Part of the answer came when I realized that maybe, just maybe, I needed to change my definition of what prayer is. We come to God with our shopping lists and then don't come back unless we have another list. I realized that if my children only came to me when they wanted something, and no other time, my experience as a parent would be cut short. There are times when my son just crawls up on my lap, curls up against me and watches the game with me. It doesn't matter what game, he has no sense of what constitutes "the big game" as opposed to one between two 1-10 teams; spending time with me is the experience he seeks. And it is that experience that defines the joy of being a parent for me. So should we always present God with our wants? Shouldn't we just crawl up into his lap sometimes and express our love?

A couple of years ago I went to a Catholic charismatic conference and heard a speaker named Ralph Martin. He has been a leader in Catholic renewal since the charismatic movement started in 1967, yet in the last several years he has concentrated on the spirituality of the saints. The talk I heard was on the stages of union with God according to the writings of St. Theresa of Avila, and it was fantastic. It opened my mind to the possibility that I've had it all wrong; that the goal of prayer is union with God, and the presenting of our petitions is peripheral to this central purpose.

Within the same timeframe I was introduced to the teachings of Mike Bickle. Mike has made the focus of his ministry exhorting Christians to seek the face of the Lord and pray what David prayed in Psalm 27:4- "...one thing I ask, this one thing I seek, that I may behold the beauty of the Lord…." He views the Song of Solomon in an allegorical format popular with the early Church fathers, teaching that the bridegroom represents Jesus and the bride represents the church, and Jesus longs to draw us to himself in a relationship of love. Prayer in this paradigm is not simply airing our requests and grievances, although intercession is certainly a part, but sitting at the feet of Jesus as Mary did while Martha busied herself with the tasks of everyday life.

And then there is Witness Lee. Witness Lee uses the phrase "the economy of God" to stress that God's central plan is to dispense himself into his chosen people, the church. Our goal above all other things is to dwell in our spirit where Christ has made his home, and from that ground all other things have their growth.

So to answer the question "has Sean given up prayer?", the answer is "no, with qualifications." I pray that I would experience and enjoy the love of God in the same way that my son and daughter enjoy my love. I pray that the stages of illumination, purgation and union would be a reality in my own spiritual life and not just a theory to be studied in a textbook. But I haven't gotten through my difficulties with intercession. I try to believe that my requests are heard; at this point I just can't. Of course, if I understood all things, faith wouldn't be necessary.

Just a few thoughts, your mileage may vary.

Who are you, hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo

2011-03-10T17:09:00.002-05:00

Every time I look at you I don't understand
Why you let the things you did get so out of hand?...
Don't you get me wrong
I only want to know
---"Superstar", from the musical Jesus Christ Superstar

Do you think Jesus knew what he was starting? Did he have any idea when he was dying on the cross what would happen to his legacy? When he told Simon Peter that he was going to build his church, did he have his fingers crossed behind his back, saying to himself "oh God, please don't let him screw it up?"? When Pat Robertson opens his mouth does Jesus sit up in heaven and think "oh crap, he's at it again"?

Of course he knew what would happen. He's God, right? When God created Adam and Eve he/she/it obviously knew that they would eat the fruit, otherwise he wouldn't be God. So when Jesus made his final instructions to his disciples, telling them to preach the gospel, start Christian rock bands and sing "Kumbayah" a lot, he knew that some of those future disciples would be real a**holes.

Don't you get me wrong- I only want to know.

Christ you know I love you
Did you see I waved?
---"Simon Zealotes", Jesus Christ Superstar

So let's imagine Jesus walking through the sands of time. The church starts, everything is cool, the Romans hate their guts but the believers give a collective middle finger to the Romans and meet anyway. The Romans throw them to lions and find many other ways to separate the believers from their lives, but it doesn't matter. They have a fresh vision of Jesus. Jesus is all that matters to them. Some of them even saw the man face to face. It's all about the man from Galilee.

Then when we retire, we can write the Gospels
So they'll still talk about us when we've died.
---"The Last Supper", Jesus Christ Superstar

Gospels are floating around now. Everybody and their brother put pen to paper and churn out Gospels like network TV churns out reality shows. And even if someone didn't know Jesus personally, they probably knew a friend of a friend who shared the Passover meal with an apostle's cousin, and if they say Jesus would have done something this way, he probably would have.

And so it began.

When Jesus went into the region of Caesarea Philippi he asked his disciples, "Who do people say that the Son of Man is?" They replied, "Some say John the Baptist, others Elijah, still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets."
He said to them, "But who do you say that I am?"
---Matthew 16:13-15"

And the people said, 'Let us make Jesus in our own image, after our own likeness.'" Over the course of time people began to develop interpretations of who Jesus was based on what they wanted him to be. The apostles ordained successors, and so on and so on, and Jesus smiled on the whole chain. Jesus automatically approved of everything the Church did, because after all, he started the thing. Right?

Pretty soon Martin Luther said "you know, screw this" and broke off, starting a revolution that revolved around the belief that Jesus wouldn't make us do works, it's all about grace. Jesus wouldn't approve of this hierarchy stuff…Jesus would want us to read the Bible for ourselves…Jesus wouldn't baptize infants- what do they know, anyway? And branches continued to fall from the tree.

Look at the artwork. Jesus Christ became a white man from the Middle Ages instead of the man of Middle Eastern descent that he actually was. In the 1700's and 1800's Jesus had no problems with people owning slaves because, well, that's what the people wanted so they projected it onto Jesus. Marcus Garvey said that Jesus was a black man, because he wanted him to be one. To the emerging women's movement Jesus was the first feminist. After all, Mary Magdalene was the first to see him after his resurrection, so to hell with all the tired old white guys running the show- Jesus obviously favored bra burning and reproductive freedom. To the hippies Jesus was the first hippie rebel. He stood up to the man, man! He fought the power! He had long hair and a lot of crazy ideas about love and freedom. "Not so fast," the fundamentalist movement intoned. Jesus didn't have long hair- long hair was a shame to a man. To them Jesus was a short haired Bible thumper- just like them. Jack Hyles even wrote a book entitled "Jesus Had Short Hair." Jesus was the original fightin', feudin' fundamentalist who spoke in King James English. 1611, straight from heaven baby!

There must be over fifty thousand
Screaming love and more for you.
And everyone of fifty thousand
Would do whatever you asked them to.
Keep them yelling their devotion,
But add a touch of hate at Rome.
You will rise to a greater power.
We will win ourselves a home.
You'll get the power and the glory
For ever and ever and ever
---"Simon Zealotes", Jesus Christ Superstar

Along about 1976 Jesus Christ took the form of a peanut farmer from Georgia. Oops, my bad- that was Jimmy Carter. Same initials, though. A born-again in the White House- who woulda thunk it? But he was a Democrat, so he was destined to disappoint the crowd who was quickly seeing Jesus as the first Republican. When the 1980 elections rolled around old J.C. found himself thrown out on his peanut shells. The world had a new savior- old Ronald Wilson Reagan himself, the great white hope.

In 1987 and 1988, when Bakker and Swaggart took a dive, it was no longer cool to say "Jesus Is Lord." Smacked too much of pushy televangelists and an image Christians were trying to get away from. Jesus was your buddy, your friend. He's not going to push anything on you, man! He just wants to share a Budweiser and some smokes with you, maybe shoot a round of pool or go club-hopping. He was straight-edge before Fugazi took their first breath. Jesus was a vegan- he wouldn't have eaten poor, defenseless animals! Lamb of God? Oh , umm, well….

How about the pro-life crowd? "Jesus loves the little children…" they intoned while chaining themselves to abortion mills. Some of them got the idea that it might be kind of cool to kill a few doctors- after all, Jesus did say "the kingdom of heaven suffers violence and the violent take it by force." Most of that same pro-life crowd are now pleased that we're killing a lot of Iraqis and Afghanis for Christ. After all, George Bush is a man of God, and Jesus told him to invade Iraq. Too bad Jesus didn't tell him where the weapons were.

And now 2011 is here, and the whole thing has just bogged down into a big, giant mess. The Libs have Jesus as a union man, standing for the poor and downtrodden and cool with anything you choose to do, unless you choose to vote Republican, in which case even Jesus will never forgive what you do; the Sweet Neo-cons (thank you, Mick Jagger) view Jesus as an all-American man's man, a cross between John Walton and John McCain, dishing out punishment to unfaithful Demoncrats and serving up tea (although it tastes more like Kool-Aid). And most of the people identifying themselves as Christians, Christ-followers, Jesus People, whatever label they choose in order to disassociate from those they disagree with, they have taken up sides in some unholy spiritual civil war.

Always hear me complain, and you listen in once more,
I know everything your bride's against, but I don't know what she's for,
So, don't mistake my anger for bitterness and strife,
'Cause on bended knee I'm begging you, "Please Jesus, talk to your wife."
---"The Bride Song", Dead Artist Syndrome

A few years ago a fellow blogger challenged me to say who I believed Jesus is. I had every intention of making that an essay, but then I realized that it would be pointless. Nobody really cares who Jesus was, is or shall be. They only care about the carefully crafted image they've made of Jesus.

You want a statement of belief from me? OK. Jesus is Lord. The implications of that statement are still being determined.

If God had a face what would it look like
And would you want to see
If seeing meant that you would have to believe
---"One of Us", Eric Bazilian (performed by Joan Osborne)

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, But Names Will Sway an Election

2010-10-16T16:19:00.000-04:00

The key to any election is not to preach to the choir. No matter the party affiliation, they both have the same strategy. The people on the far left are already convinced. The people on the far right have already made up their minds. There are people on the fringe of both sides who are legitimately undecided, but are reading through the issues, making their decisions, but are likely to go in a particular direction. It's the unwashed masses in the middle who are the target of the polls, the political commercials, the slings and arrows of outrageous campaigns. They are the ones who need the most convincing.

And unfortunately those people are idiots. Morons. Downright unintelligent.

Hasn't anyone asked themselves why political commercials are so ugly? And I'm not even pointing out one side or another. They all do it. Poison the well (see Wikipedia). If we spend enough time running down the opponent and tossing around buzzwords, we can sway the masses, even if we never confront the substance of their beliefs and positions.

For three years of my life, from 7th grade through 9th grade, all I heard were insults. Bullies insulted my hygiene, insulted my choices in music, attempted to cast aspersions upon my supposed sexual preference.... There was no end. And after awhile I started to believe it. It became ingrained in me and my self-concept was defined by what people told me I was, not what I had defined for myself.

See if any of these words or phrases sound familiar. Socialist. Muslim. Non-citizen. Obamacare. For two solid years, that's the majority of what we've heard from active opponents of Barry Soetero. (That's Barack Obama for the thinking citizens among us.) Political bullies, that's all it is. The use of the word socialist is merely an attempt to create a mental link between Barack Obama and communism. Most people who use it can't even define it. By calling Barack Obama a Muslim and questioning his citizenship, people are subconsciously drawing a connection between our President and those who took the World Trade Center down. And Obamacare? What does that mean? Now if you want to talk about President Obama's health care plan, let's sit down. But if you insist on using "Obamacare", then don't waste my time.

And the political bullies are swaying the masses. Just look at the approval ratings. If the presidential election were held tomorrow Obama wouldn't have a chance in hell of winning. Not because of any intelligent discussion of his positions, but because "there ain't no way in hell I'm gonna vote for that Muslim-loving socialist." "We're taking our country back!" As if this country is a volleyball being battered back and forth between the selfish throngs who want it for themselves.

And I know at this point that half of you have turned me off. "Oh, he's been brainwashed by the Libs." As if being Liberal was a crime. As if Liberals had nothing to bring to the table.

So let's look at the election of 2008 for a second. I watched news shows every night for close to a year because it was better than any reality show. Primaries, caucuses, Super Tuesday. For Republicans, the choice became clear pretty quickly. John McCain was their man.

And the machine was set into motion. McCain was too old. McCain was a warmonger. McCain was unhealthy. Any film clip of John McCain stumbling over his words was held out as proof that this man was unfit for the Presidency. And when he selected Sarah Palin as his running mate? Whoa, nelly! She's inexperienced. She's an ignorant hick. She things she has an edge in foreign policy because she can see Russia from her window. Doesn't matter if any of these things were true, or if McCain or Palin said any of the things they were accused of saying. Just like the attacks against "Barry Soetero"- if you say it long enough and loud enough, the masses will believe.

And they did. Barack Obama won overwhelmingly.

So what's the solution? (And if you suggest "taking our country back" then you're disqualified.) Stop voting? No, that's not it. "Vote the bums out"? No, because the next time you're voting out the bums that you voted in the last time. I'd be all for abolishing political parties altogether, but if you had ten equal candidates, and one person won with 23% of the vote, you wouldn't have an electoral college victory for one, and you would have four years of a whiney 77% complaining that their candidate didn't get in.

The solution is an educated electorate. Read. Tear yourself away from "Jersey Shore" and pick up a book. If Olbermann or Limbaugh says something, follow it up. I know, wishful thinking. It's not happening anytime soon. All I can do is change myself. If I can't be true to myself now, I'll have hell to pay later.

“Blind faith in your leaders, or in anything, will get you killed.” --- Bruce Springsteen

Destroy property

2010-05-13T10:53:00.002-04:00

Hi, my name is Sean, and I am a flag burner.

(no, wait, that isn't what I mean...)

Hi, my name is Sean, and I approve of burning the flag.

(hmm... not really, I mean, I would rather people not burn the flag...)

Hi, my name is Sean, and I don't approve of burning the flag, you Nazi cows.

(well, that's closer; I don't want to see people burning the flag, but I don't want to see a law against it, either. And using the word "Nazi" means you have lost the argument before it starts. Let's see if I can clarify things just a little bit more...)

Hi, my name is Sean, and I'm just a guy. I'm not a patriot; I'm not an anarchist; I'm not a socialist.

I'm just a guy.

I'm not planning on burning the flag, but I'm not going to pull a Rick Monday and take the flag away from someone who is planning on it, either.

I'm just a guy.

Burning a flag can represent some strong feelings against the United States of America, or the administration at the time; it can represent utter despair over the course of current military action, or it can simply be a desire to draw attention to a certain cause.

The American flag is a symbol of certain beliefs and values. Oooh, that's good. Let me state that again. The American flag is a symbol of certain beliefs and values. It isn't those values. Burning the flag may show contempt for those values, or maybe not; you can't make that determination without knowing the person and their motivation. But burning the flag does not stamp out those values and beliefs. If anything, burning the flag is those beliefs and values in action. Freedom of speech. Freedom of peaceful assembly. Freedom to protest our government in a lawful manner, because let's face it, this isn't the Adams administration and the Alien and Sedition Act is no longer in force. We do have the right to protest the government.

You can't outlaw flag burning. You can't. Oh, you can try, and you may be able to get something on the books, but if you outlaw flag burning then you need to outlaw tea party assemblies and "Obama as The Joker" signs as well. Ooh, I just hit someone too close to the belt. Protest is protest. If you want the right to protest, even if your protest simply exposes your idiocy, then the other side has the right to protest as well, even if the other side is as ugly as their backside.

What about those people who picket military funerals? Well... I would have a hard time banning something like that. I certainly think funerals are solemn occasions, a time for mourning, a time to say goodbye. It isn't a time to score some sort of political point. It certainly isn't a time to show up because you know you'll be seen. Let me repeat that in a different way. If you want to get rid of people picketing military funerals, then you need to rid yourself of the people who come in from town and wave their flags and carry their banners because they want their picture to be in the paper so people can see how patriotic they are.

In other words, funerals should be for the family and close friends. Not for the neighbors who lived next door to the guy but only saw him when he was mowing the lawn; not for the guy who beat the crap out of him in high school because he liked different bands; not for the couple who brought their kids by for Halloween and didn't see him again until next Halloween. Funerals aren't a photo-op.

So let's try this again.

Hi, I'm Sean, and I'm in favor of people exercising their freedoms with copious amounts of common sense.

(Yeah, I think that sums it up well. But what do I know. I'm just a guy.)

Defy authority

2010-05-11T17:55:00.002-04:00

In my younger years, way back in the 70’s, I was a geek; but I was a geek with one specialty- I was good in spelling bees. Very good. I still have a certificate from the now defunct Cleveland Press that testifies to my prowess in defeating all comers in my elementary school to take the crown.

It was no surprise to me, and it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone doing any amount of digging into my personal history. I started reading before kindergarten. My grandfather was a man of words. My father raised me on crossword puzzle magazines. Spelling talent just came natural to me.

We moved to New Baltimore, Michigan in 1977 and I entered sixth grade at Dean A. Naldrett Elementary School. I went about the difficult task of getting used to a new environment and making new friends. One day the teacher made an announcement.

“We will be holding the class spelling bee next Friday morning.”

Hot dog! My chance to shine. My father helped me study the list of words, taking special glee in getting me to spell Mohammedanism. When Friday morning came I was prepared. And I won. My winning word? Mohammedanism. I kid you not.

As a result I was able to move on to the school spelling bee, along with my second runner-up. We were given the official list of spelling words, and once again my father spent time with me on a nightly basis to study the list. As we went through each word, my father noticed something odd.

There was a misspelled word. On a list of words for a spelling bee. And ironically, the word was “genius”. Spelled “genious”.

What to do? Do we try to notify someone? Do we just hope someone else notices the mistake? My father asked me to notify my teacher. I didn’t want to. I was in sixth grade, long before I took it upon myself to adopt causes.

The day of the school spelling bee came and I was ready. Before our class made their way down the hall to the room I attempted to tell my teacher that there was a problem. Whether she didn’t hear me, or heard me and just didn’t respond, I’ll never know. And it didn’t matter. The time for the competition had come.

Students stood up, students spelled, students were eliminated. I was cruising. With about six kids left it was my turn again.

My word? If you’ve made it this far you already know. My word was “genius”.

I had a choice to make. Do I ask them if they wanted it spelled correctly or spelled as given on the list? Do I just spell it like it was on the list? Do I spell it correctly? Continuing to believe that someone had to have noticed by now, I spelled it correctly.

And I was eliminated.

Tears sprang to my eyes as I sat down. I couldn’t believe it. There was no way this could stand.

There was every way this could stand. The teacher running the spelling bee announced that there was some confusion regarding my elimination, and then explained the rule- words had to be spelled exactly as they appeared on the list. Even if they were spelled wrong.

My run had come to an end. When junior high came around I was quickly eliminated on the word committee, and I would never enter another spelling bee again.

This took place in 1978. If it had taken place in 2008, there might have been a lawsuit. There might have been a blog campaign. There definitely would have been bad press. But in 1978, you just did what the principal told you. Hell, they still paddled back then. 32 years later, and you would think I would be beyond it.

I’m not.

If you haven’t learned Bruce Springsteen’s axiom that “blind faith in authority can get yourself killed”, you need to learn a lesson. People in authority will lie to you. They will use you. They will follow the "rules" no matter how wrongly those rules are applied.

I learned a healthy respect for rebellion from that day in 1978, and I’ve carried it with me ever since. Through church scandals. Through political brouhahas. Through reading one President’s lips, through a President who did not have sex with that young woman, through “Mission Accomplished”. If someone in authority tells me something, my first response is not to believe it. Don’t tell me, show me. Prove yourself trustworthy, and then I’ll believe you.

Maybe.

Take me out to the ballgame

2010-05-07T17:59:00.001-04:00

I put the MLB Channel on the telly this afternoon, sat down at the table with my Replay baseball game, pulled out the 1978 Angels and the 2005 Angels, and I was immediately trapped in a time warp. The years started melting away...2004- the Boston Red Sox win their first World Series in 86 years...2001- Barry Bonds hits 73 home runs and the Seattle Mariners win 116 games...1998- McGwire and Sosa... the years are flying by faster now, and so are the players...1995- Cleveland Indians in the World Series...1980- will George Brett hit .400?.... The time machine is slowing down now- 1979, 1977, 1975...

1971. The year before the Oakland A's three-year run as the champions of the world began. On this particular day a 58-year-old gentleman is sitting in the grandstand, his 28-year-old son beside him, and his 5 and 3-year-old grandsons along as well. It was batting helmet day, or t-shirt day, or some such promotion; the batting helmet would have shattered with one of Vida Blue's slowest pitches, but that didn't matter to the five-year-old; all he cared about was that he was there, at the ballpark, eating peanuts from a giant bag and dropping the shells gleefully on the concrete. Were we allowed to do that? he wondered. But it didn't matter- his grandpa was doing it, his father was doing it, so he did it too. The names of the players were magical- Blue Moon Odom, Catfish Hunter, Rollie Fingers. He laughed every time he saw Rollie's handlebar moustache. The field looked enormous and the players looked small from the nosebleed seats. The green and yellow uniforms may look hideous to those looking back from a vantage point of thirty-nine years, but to that five-year-old, they were a fashion statement. He wore his souvenir helmet and t-shirt with pride.

Fast forward four years. In 1975 our protagonist was now nine years old and living in Ohio, as far away from the Oakland A's as they were from their next appearance in the World Series. The Milwaukee Brewers were in town, and that meant a chance to see Hank Aaron, the newly crowned home run king. This nine year old boy thought it would be a simple thing to walk onto the field, present Mr. Aaron with a paper and pencil and get him to sign. Get used to disappointment, kid. Whether Hank Aaron hit a home run that day or not is a fact lost to the sands of time, but to the nine year old, it didn't matter; he was there.

Have you guessed? That boy was me. I have been to many ballgames in the 39 years since I ground those peanut shells into the concrete in Oakland. I've lived through great Oakland teams, mediocre Detroit teams, and great Cleveland teams (although I had to swim through a lot of mediocrity to get there). Classic moments- George Brett's .390, my brother waking me up to tell me that Len Barker had pitched a perfect game, Jack Morris pitching a no-hitter in 1984, and the Detroit Tigers winning it all that year. And calling the action, whether he did so in real-life or not, is the late, great Ernie Harwell, a man who personified class, a man who took time out of his day to write a letter to my friend Dr. Jeffrey Smale simply because I wrote to him and asked.

I am a baseball fan. I have seen a lot of teams and a whole lot of players pass through real-life on the way to my memories, some for a cup of coffee, some for a full-course meal plus seconds. For every Joe Charboneau there's a George Brett; for every Marvin Freeman there's a Tim Lincecum. Well, maybe for every 100 Marvin Freemans :) There are good players and bad players, good times and bad times. When the players went on strike in 1981 I was heartbroken, but I stayed a fan, playing Strat-O-Matic and APBA baseball day after day, and several times on Saturdays. When the players went on strike in 1994 I wanted to turn away from the game completely. Then the Indians had to go and play their way into the Wold Series in 1995. Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.

And you want to tell me Barry Bonds brought the game to the brink of ruin? I think the game has been on the brink of ruin for the past... well.... how many years has professional baseball been around? Let's say 139 years, since the National Association in 1871. The baseball cranks of the nineteenth century lived through the National Association, the American Association, the Union Association, the Player's League; they saw the National League expand to twelve teams and shrink to eight; they saw the arrival of the rebel Western League as it morphed into the American League and challenged the Senior Circuit for the best players. The twentieth century fan saw some of the best players in the game denied admission to the dance because of their heritage, the defiling of the sacrosanct World Series in 1919, the blossoming of a portly pitcher and slugger from Baltimore, Maryland whom veterans like Tyrus Raymond Cobb looked upon with disdain. "He has ruined the sport!" he cried, when in fact he helped to save it. The ball has been juiced more times than a mother's breast and spat on more times than a bartender's spittoon; the game has been proclaimed dead more times than Paul McCartney, yet it staggers on and even thrives.

I know, it's only baseball, but I like it.

The players haven't ruined the game. They can't. If a steroid-influenced ballplayer hit a juiced ball into the upper deck and no one was there to hear it, would it still leave an asterisk? The players may play the game, but the fans make it live. If the fans hadn't taken a shine to Joltin' Joe DiMaggio, then a 56-game hitting streak would mean about as much as a three-dollar bill. Babe Ruth? Without a legend behind him people would just as likely remember Grover Cleveland's daughter more. When Kirby Puckett died, his legal troubles were relegated to a sentence or two, because he was so well liked. When Marge Schott died, her racism was still a story, because she wasn't well liked.

The game will live because of Dan Okrent. The game will live because of Topps. The game will live because of Ethan Allen and Richard Seitz, because of Hal Richman and Pete Ventura, because of men like Ernie Harwell and Red Barber, because whenever three or more children get together the candy wrapper can still be first base, the bookbag can still be second, the leaves can still be third and the tree stump can still be home. Mom may have been more powerful than Kenesaw Mountain Landis, but there was always tomorrow, always one more chance to be Gorman Thomas or Al Kaline or Ken Griffey Jr or Hank Aaron.

If you love it, they will come.

So if you will excuse me, I have to go. Three-Finger Brown and Honus Wagner await my presence at the ballpark.

To Erin, in response to a Facebook post which I felt was particularly egregious (featuring copious use of asterisk-masked profanity)

2010-04-27T17:44:00.001-04:00

Erin: "I am NOT going to get started and tirade. However...." And then on came the tirade.

Yeah, "both parties have made many mistakes and the blaming and pointing fingers is getting us NO WHERE!", but " I am done even arguing with or debating liberals." Yeah, way to avoid the name-calling. First step is to kill the words conservative and liberal. Admit that they mean nothing. The only purpose they serve is to keep us from dialogue, because after all, if a person is a liberal or a conservative, we don't have to talk with them, we know how they are going to think and react, right? Wrong. Doesn't matter if it's liberal crap or conservative crap, crap is crap and comes from the same source, an asshole.

(Just as an aside, OF COURSE Obama was adamant about passing health care. If he wasn't adamant, he gets called a waffler who doesn't live up to his promises and doesn't stand for anything. If he is adamant (as he was) he is accused of ramming through legislation without listening to the people. I'd rather him use my tax money to help people as opposed to having them killed. He who has ears to hear, let them hear.)

(I will now grant Brian O.'s request for Democrat bashing. They have no balls. Rahm Emanuel is the only one with anything approaching a spine. There. Equal time.)

And Brian my former lab partner says "We need out of the box ideas to save a republic that's drowning under its own weight." Well, Brian, guess what. To quote Dana Carvey as Bush Sr. "Ain't guh happen." Because once the thinker is out of the box the guy with the hammer is there to bash his f*cking head in, like ducks at a carnival game. Don't think so? What's Robert Kennedy up to these days? Martin Luther King? Malcolm X? John F. Kennedy?

Brian the lab partner, you wanted me to write, so here it is.This is how each party can win the Presidency in 2012. Democrats, you want Obama for a second term? Bust your ass for Sarah Palin. Go to every rally, switch parties and vote for her in the primaries, grit your teeth and wear your Palin Power T-shirt, do whatever it takes to get her nominated. Because she is the only one Obama is going to have a chance in hell against.

Republicans, you want to win the Presidency in 2012? Don't nominate someone who is 60 years old or over. I am serious. Study the statistics. Whenever there has been an age difference of ten years or more, the young guy wins every time. Every time. Unless their name is Sarah Palin, who has no chance in hell. Let's throw out some names. Mike Huckabee. Bobby Jindal. Tim Pawlenty. Don't even think about Mitt Romney. That evangelical voting bloc ain't gettin' behind no Mormon. Plus he's over 60. No Presidency for you. Next!

There, Brian of the lab partner Brians, you wanted me to write. Now I have real issues to deal with, not this political bullsh*t.

Sean

PS- Damn, that was good. I think this is going on my blog :)

Out to find the better part

2010-04-03T23:02:00.001-04:00

I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naive
I'm just out to find
The better part of me

I'm more than a bird…I'm more than a plane
I'm more than some pretty face beside a train
It's not easy to be me.

I wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
About a home I'll never see

It may sound absurd…but don't be naive
Even heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed…but won't you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream
And it's not easy to be me.

Up, up and away…away from me
Well it's all right…You can all sleep sound tonight
I'm not crazy…or anything…

I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naive
Men weren't meant to ride
With clouds between their knees

I'm only a man in a silly red sheet
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things inside of me
inside of me ......

I'm only a man in a funny red sheet
I'm only a man looking for a dream

I'm only a man in a funny red sheet

It's not easy to be me...

---Five For Fighting, "Superman"

What’s so Good about it?

2010-04-02T13:49:00.001-04:00

Good Friday. The day Christ died (supposedly). Day of penance.

Yeah.

I have a memorial to go to today. The 16-year-old son of some friends died suddenly in his sleep. He was autistic. I knew him.

I met him several times. He used to smile a lot, and out of nowhere sing Mary Had a Little Lamb. He didn't always know his own strength. He once came close to breaking the nose of the church worker who was watching him during a service.

This boy isn't getting a funeral procession. The citizens of Elyria aren't putting his name on banners so they can be seen mourning, they aren't laying teddy bears at the doorstep of any residence or place of business, in fact, the majority of this city is going to go to bed tonight and wake up in the morning and not even realize that the 16-year-old son of some wonderful people isn't coming out of the ground, he isn't going to get to roughhouse with his little brother anymore, he isn't going to give another hug. As if the presence of a badge makes a life more valuable than another.

This is affecting me like a death hasn't affected me in some time, and really, it shouldn't. This isn't my story. To come out in a blog and talk about the tears I've shed for this boy makes me just as bad as the leaches who put up ever larger memorials to a police officer just so the Chronicle-Telegram photographer can grab a shot and put it on the front page. Doesn't it? I don't know. One thing I do know is this. I have an autistic son. I have an autistic daughter. And I can't process the idea that someday my son could die in the same way. I just can't get past that idea, that a part of you could disappear and you would be expected to go on living. It's like someone taking your lungs and telling you to breathe as before. Taking a piece of your brain and telling you to think. Taking your legs and having you run a marathon. You can do it, but it would be a lot easier with the parts you had before. Wouldn't it?

And with all due respect to my Christian friends, shedding tears does not hint at some lack of belief in the resurrection of the dead. Shedding tears makes me a human being with emotions that work, emotions that I was created with.

My son hurts himself. He bangs his head on doors, on walls, on filing cabinets. He has a foam rubber helmet, but if he doesn't want to wear it, he isn't going to. I sometimes spend whole days attempting to keep him from doing harm, to himself or to us. But if it was a choice between the stress of raising him or the sorrow of losing him forever, I would take a lifetime of abuse just to keep him in my arms.

But one couple doesn't have that luxury anymore.

And I think more people should care.

And I think more people should stay home from Tenebrae services and make this couple a pot of soup, or a lasagna. Or give them a hug.

I don't think Jesus would mind. In fact, I think Jesus has plans tonight.

He's attending a memorial service at Chestnut Ridge Baptist Church. You'll be able to spot him.

He'll be that long-haired guy standing next to the casket, weeping.

?

2010-03-17T09:03:00.001-04:00

Just wondering…

…why people make public shows out of mourning for those they didn't know. A funeral is not a photo op, people. If you didn't know the person, just stay the hell away.

…why dead police officers get more attention than sick children or dying 90-year-olds. Go to Rainbow Babies and Children's Hospital sometime, find the kid in the wheelchair with the feeding tube in his/her stomach (you shouldn't have to look for long), and then ask the parents whether that life is valuable. I'm guessing the parents will say yes. But if that kid dies, no one is dropping a bouquet of flowers off in front of his/her house, and no one is lining the street to pay last respects as the hearse drives by. Because that kind of thing doesn't get the mourner any attention; it doesn't earn them any "see, I really care" points.

…what "pro-life" means, anyway. Is life just a poker hand? "My two dead babies trump your five dead Iraqis." Isn't all of life sacred?

…why "equal access" doesn't apply to kids in the church nursery. Yeah, I'm riding that horse again. I certainly enjoy spending quality time with my son on Sunday morning, but I would rather be in church; I meet more people that way.

…why, if the Bible says that there are many members of the Body of Christ, so many people feel called to be the asshole.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

Tired

2010-03-08T20:24:00.001-05:00

I'm tired of idiots. I'm tired of hypocrites. I'm tired of people who talk about tolerance and are the most intolerant people I've ever met. Just… tired. Do me a favor and just quit talking about tolerance if you aren't ready to extend it to everybody. If you are ready to extend it to everybody except the people with whom you most violently disagree, then just shut the hell up already. Just… be quiet.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

I’ve got that joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart

2010-03-02T22:16:00.002-05:00

Interesting how music stays with you.

33 years ago I was an 11-year-old boy who had just moved to Ohio from Michigan. It was the summer of 1977 and I remember it well because Elvis Presley had just died. We took a family trip to the store, and being the impressionable youngster that I was, I wanted a record album. But not just any record album, mind you. We had just spent some time with my mother's family, including cousins who were in their late teens/early twenties, and I wanted the music they were listening to. I wanted…

"You can look at the records, but no Kiss!" my father intoned authoritatively.

Well, crap. That's the group I wanted. So I did what any rational 11-year-old boy would do when he wanted his own way- I threw a fit in the middle of K-mart. Having two children of my own who are prone to fits, I know how embarrassing they can be to a parent. At the time, of course, I didn't care. I had the allowance money available, and I wanted a Kiss album! I wanted a Kiss album! Soon my father relented, with the understanding that under no circumstances would the volume approach the level appreciated by Dan and Don. "Sure," I said with a wink. I would just wait until you weren't home. With the deal struck I was allowed to peruse the rock music selections, and I left the store with a copy of Love Gun, Kiss' latest effort.

I was entering a whole new world, a world of Circus magazine and loud guitars, a world where parents refused to enter and we didn't want them there anyway. I wasn't a teen yet, but I was on the fast track. And the 10 questions on my entrance exam concerned Plaster Casters and Love Guns, bass guitar players who were Almost Human and had Love For Sale, Hooligans and sixteen-year-old girls named Christine. I had just become a buck private in the Kiss Army.

Love Gun may have been my entrance exam, but Kiss Alive! became my graduate thesis. Alive was my second Kiss album and to this day is my favorite. The combination of the costumes, grease paint and sheer energy of the music made me a fan for life. I memorized the lyrics, copied the signatures from the bands' notes on the inside, and knew all of Paul Stanley's stage raps. I didn't know what partying e-vah-ree day meant, I didn't know why Gene's baby was worth the Deuce, but I knew I had Nothing To Lose. What a fantastic album.

As I entered junior high school, I quickly discovered that not everyone shared my appreciation for the hottest band in the world. "Kiss sucks!" became a battle cry. I was belittled for my music choices, but I didn't care. I may have been desperate for the approval of my peers, but in the matter of who reigned supreme in the music world I granted no quarter. Kiss taught me non-conformity at an age when being accepted meant the world.

One day on the schoolbus I got into a conversation with a red-haired kid named Billy Bowen. Why we started talking I have no idea. I just remember that the conversation turned to music. He asked me what my favorite bands were and I can remember thinking that I had a choice: either be honest and tell him that I like Kiss, or throw the name of Kiss in with a few other bands and hope he didn't notice. Not feeling like engaging in fisticuffs, I chose the latter.

"I like Kiss and REO Speedwagon," I replied.

"Cool. I like Kiss too." And a friendship was born.

Billy Bowen and I became fast friends. This was unusual, as military brats such as ourselves usually had a couple of years before our dads got the orders and we were shipped elsewhere. But the two of us bonded. We liked Kiss and girls, girls and Kiss. He made Anchor Bay Junior High School a little more bearable for me.

Early in 1979 I was perusing the newspaper when four familiar letters caught my eye. KISS, Pontiac Silverdome, July 13, 1979. My heart skipped a beat. Kiss! In Detroit! I have to go! How I would get there never crossed my mind. I just knew that I was going. When I got to the bus stop the next day Billy already knew. Kiss was coming! And his father was going to drive us there!

For the next few months I could think of nothing else except July 13^th and the Kiss Dynasty tour. I gave Billy the money, his dad bought the tickets, and I counted the days. Finally the day came. Billy's dad dropped us off at the Silverdome and left us there. Think about that for a minute. Two twelve-year-old kids alone at a Kiss concert? How in the world did that even happen?

We had packed up our tape recorders and cassette tapes, innocently thinking that we could just waltz in with recording equipment and tape the concert. Rude awakening number two. The security guards stopped us at the gate and would not let us in. Once we convinced them that we were just two stupid kids, they confiscated our tapes and sent us through. We had entered the promised land!

If you have read this far then you know that I thought the show was fantastic. Fire breathing! Blood spitting! Bass guitarists flying and lead guitars smoking! King of the Nighttime World! 2,000 Man! Rock and Roll All Night! I was in heaven.

Flash-forward 17 years. The makeup came, the makeup went, and the makeup came again. The boys were getting the original lineup back together and July 20, 1996 was my date with infamy. When it was go-time I knew all the words to every song and sang them all with reckless abandon. About three songs in I realized I was crying. Crying? There's no crying at Kiss concerts! But I was happy. I realized that I was finally doing something for the pure sake of doing it, not to prove I was Christian enough, not for some higher lofty motive, but just because it gave me joy.

This is the third time I have run this particular blog entry, and how are Kiss and spiritual reflection in any way connected? Keep reading.

33 years after that first album I am now a 43-year-old father of two children with autism. I am no longer in the mood for anyone's crap. The things I once fought for I now let sit at the roadside. If you want to argue about things like communion bread, if you want to paint a Hitler moustache on a picture of Barack Obama, if you want to try and convince me that KISS stands for Knights In Satan's Service- well, you just keep on walking, jack. Would Christ take pleasure in my listening to a song titled "Uhh! All Night"? I don't know, probably not, but would Christ take pleasure in you lying about a man because you don't like his politics?

Take the plank out of your own eye first.

As for me, I still listen to Kiss.

Kiss taught me to stand up for what I believe in when all around me were (and are) marching like lemmings into the pit. Kiss taught me that there is such a thing as taking joy in something for the mere sake of the joy itself.

I've got that joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart.

It's a living comic book, folks. Nothing more, nothing less. When the Starchild, the Demon, the Spaceman and the Cat took the stage on September 28, 2009, and I saw the hottest band in the world perform their rock and roll liturgy, they were not there to convert, they were not there to subvert- they were there to entertain.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

From each one according to his ability, to each one according to his need

2010-03-01T22:31:00.001-05:00

What differentiates the book of Acts from socialism? Discuss amongst yourselves.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

Imagine

2010-02-28T17:39:00.001-05:00

Matthew I can hardly express,
My mixed emotion at my thoughtlessness,
After all I'm forever in your debt,
And Matthew I will try express,
My inner feelings and thankfullness,
For showing me the meaning of succsess,
oooh well, well,
oooh well, well,

Rebecca I know you understand
The little child inside the man,
Please remember my life is in your hands,
And Rebecca hold me close to your heart,
However, distant don't keep us apart,
After all it is written in the stars,
oooh well, well,
oooh well, well,

Children please let me explain,
I never meant to cause you sorrow or pain,
So let me tell you again and again and again,
I love you (yeah, yeah) now and forever,
I love you (yeah, yeah) now and forever,
I love you (yeah, yeah) now and forever,
I love you (yeah, yeah)...

---John Lennon, "Woman"
(lyrical changes my own contribution)

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

(No witty Lenten reflection booked)

2010-02-28T13:09:00.001-05:00

Yesterday's lack of a reflection was meant to represent the dark night of the soul. Or the absence of the presence of God meant to signify the need for true faith. Or just the fact that I forgot. I don't know. J

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

To Emily, Wherever I May Find Her

2010-02-26T21:02:00.001-05:00

Emily;

I know we don't talk much, haven't texted in a long time, but I just wanted to drop you a line and say hi. And tell you that your mother loves you.

I met your mom in November of 1988. In fact, I can remember the day well- it was the day after election day. I had lunch with my best friend, and then called her later to tell her how I wanted to kill myself. Depression was kind of a problem for me. My best friend couldn't handle it, but she knew someone who could, and later that night I found myself in an apartment above a rib joint, sharing leftover quiche with a woman named Marie. Your mom.

From the very first moment I met her I was taken with her. She was sort of a rebel, going jogging at midnight alone, sneaking into graduate level classes as a freshman, asking questions in Bible studies when you just didn't do that kind of thing. She was free-spirited and attractive as hell, which meant that I didn't have a chance, although the fact that she had a boyfriend wasn't going to stop me from thinking about what could be. College relationships don't last long, maybe I could get my foot in the door.

Well, relationships come and go, but when they come and go during winter break, with her in Illinois and me in Ohio, I never had a chance. In 1990 I graduated from college, with Marie promising to stay in touch. Later that year she stayed in touch all right; I got a letter from her telling me that she had met a guy named Rich, she was now pregnant, and would I please not judge her? Of course I wouldn't judge her. I loved her. But I finished that letter and cried. On May 5, 1991 they had a child- your sister Joy. And the door I was trying to get a foot in had just slammed shut. Sure wish I had gotten my foot out of the way.

Lesson to be learned: it doesn't matter whether you are 15 or 25 or 45, when your love chooses another, it hurts like hell.

She's been through a lot of pain in her life. There are a lot of things I wish I could tell you but I just can't. You know how it is- you have best friends. You never sell them out. Certain things will go to the grave. But no matter what she should have done and didn't, or shouldn't have done but did, she loves you. Trust me on this. I love your mom more than anything else in the world. I see a side of her that no one sees. And I know that she cares about what happens to you. Has she expressed it imperfectly at times? Yes. But she loves you and Katie more than words can say.

Is your dad an asshole? You know the answer to that question better than I, but I am guessing that the answer is yes. Any man who gives up on his children isn't a man. I would kick his ass for you if I could, but since he was in the National Guard, he could probably kick my ass J I wish I could change how things turned out in your family life. There isn't a week that goes by when I don't wish that things had worked out differently for you, Joy and Marie. But there are people who still care about you. Don't give up. Oh please don't give up.

Do you remember when you sent your poetry to me? You told me how glad you were that someone was taking an interest in the things that you had written. I haven't stopped taking an interest. I am looking forward to seeing your work published. I am looking forward to seeing your first novel. Although if you go on The View, I might not be watching J You have a lot to offer the world. But beyond your talent, beyond your gifts, you are valuable because you are, not because of what you can do. You have worth because you are Emily.

O, I believe
Fate smiled and destiny
Laughed as she came to my cradle
Know this child will be able
Laughed as my body she lifted
Know this child will be gifted
With love, with patience and with faith
She'll make her way
---Natalie Merchant, "Wonder"

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

WWJD

2010-02-25T23:02:00.001-05:00

I think you know what Jesus would do. So do it already.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

A Man I’ll Never Be

2010-02-24T16:22:00.001-05:00

If I said what's on my mind
You'd turn and walk away
Disappearing way back in your dreams
It's so hard to be unkind
So easy just to say
That everything is just the way it seems

You look up at me
And somewhere in your mind you see
A man I'll never be

If only I could find a way
I'd feel like I'm the man you believe I am
And it gets harder every day for me
To hide behind this dream you see
A man I'll never be

I can't get any stronger
I can't climb any higher
You'll never know just how hard I've tried
Cry a little longer
And hold a little tighter
Emotions can't be satisfied

You look up at me
And somewhere in your mind you see
A man I'll never be

If only I could find a way
I'd feel like I'm the man you believe I am
And it gets harder every day for me
To hide behind this dream you see
A man I'll never be
---Boston, "A Man I'll Never Be"

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

The Man I Want To Be

2010-02-23T22:39:00.002-05:00

God, I'm down here on my knees
Cause it's the last place left to fall
Beggin' for another chance
If there's any chance at all
That you might still be listenin'
Lovin' and forgivin' guys like me
I've spent my whole life gettin' it all wrong
And I sure could use your help cause from now on

I wanna be a good man
A do like I should' man
I wanna be the kind of man the mirror likes to see
I wanna be a strong man
And admit that I was wrong, man
God I'm asking you to come change me
into the man I wanna be

There's anyway for her and me to make another start
Could you see what you could do
To put some love back in her heart
Cuz' it going to take a miracle
After all I've done to really make her see

That I wanna be a stay man
I wanna be a brave man
I wanna be the kind of man that she sees in her dreams
God, I wanna be your man
And I wanna be her man
God, I only hope she still believes
In the man I wanna be

Well, I know this late at night that talk is cheap
But Lord, don't give up on me

I wanna be a givin' man
I wanna really start livin' man
God, I'm asking you to come change me
into the man I wanna be

---Chris Young, "The Man I Want To Be"

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

To Be A Man

2010-02-22T18:09:00.001-05:00

What does it take to be a man?
What does it take to see
It's all heart and soul
A gentle hand?
So easy to want and so hard to give
How can you be a man
'Til you see beyond the life you live?
Oh, what does it take to be a man?

We can be blind, but a man tries to see
It takes tenderness
For a man to be what he can be
And what does it mean
If you're weak or strong?
A gentle feeling
Can make it right or make it wrong
What does it take to be a man?

The will to give and not receive
The strength to say what you believe
The heart to feel what others feel inside
To see what they can see

A man is something that's real
It's not what you are
It's what you can feel
It can't be too late
To look through the hate and see
I know that's what a man can be

---Boston, "To Be A Man"

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

Now that I have your attention

2010-02-21T08:04:00.001-05:00

It's rarely sweaty.

It rarely shakes the walls.

It's never how it looks on TV.

By the time you are married for more than 10 years it likely only happens once a month. If that.

When you're entering the Most Holy Place, crying out to God, that is the time when ecstasy gives way to a back spasm that makes you curse the day you were born.

Even an atheist is praying that the kids will stay asleep for…just…one…more…MINUTE!

But you still live for that moment. You live for that remembrance. You live for the look that sees past your very soul, the look that speaks of unshakeable trust, a trust that allows someone to lay open the very areas that remain concealed from the very earliest moments of childhood.

Maybe that moment is a myth. Maybe that moment doesn't exist in a world of unemployment and children and words that you can't take back.

In a rare quiet time your mind wanders to the day. You see the unseen. An unveiling. A revelation. A moment when you encounter the Divine and you know you are encountering the Divine because OH GOD HOW CAN ANYTHING ELSE BE…THIS…

good….

And even the word "good" cannot fully express what just happened. Superlatives used to give expression to the most ecstatic of experiences cannot capture the feeling, the mood, the MOMENT.

The moment when knowledge is speechless. When the world ceases to exist.

When two are one.

Hot Sex!

Now that I have your attention….

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

Grace

2010-02-20T12:35:00.001-05:00

Grace- undeserved favor. Or so the theological dictionaries would have you believe.

I once knew a woman named Elizabeth. Not in the biblical sense. Elizabeth was a Christian of a few months standing and still had that new Christian glow about her. Very zealous, very likable.

And very attractive.

Elizabeth had just turned 19 when I started to get to know her. We went to the same college, were part of the same Bible Study group, and lived in dorms across the field from each other. One night I was asked to walk her home. Not a problem. Needed an excuse to get to know her anyway. One week turned into another. The next week I asked her to have dinner with me in the dorm dining hall. Soon after we spent a weekend walking and talking, and I found myself head over heels in love with this woman. I couldn't wait until I could give her my class ring, because, well, that's what geeks do when they have never had a girlfriend and didn't know the proper procedure in 1988. I sincerely thought she was the one.

She wasn't the one.

But I thought I could convince her otherwise.

Note to the lovesick: you can't convince someone to love you.

A couple of years later, after enduring my many efforts to monopolize her attention, she told me in no uncertain terms that we couldn't be friends. I made it too hard on her. She had a life, and while my friendship was part of it, it wasn't the whole thing, and in order to get me to finally figure that out, we needed a sabbatical from friendship.

I was crushed. Heartbroken. It took me a long time to get over her, especially after she started dating someone, but get over her I did. I didn't have contact with Elizabeth for 8 years.

In 1998 I was getting married. In an effort to share the news, and maximize the gift count, I sent her an invitation. She was happy to hear from me and overjoyed at my news. A couple of months after the ceremony she was our first dinner guest.

And that was it. Fences mended, bridges restored to pre-burned greatness.

I didn't hear from her for many years after that, but it didn't matter anymore. I had made amends, and that was my ultimate goal. We ended up connecting via Facebook, and got together for coffee 12 years after I served her roast beef at dinner. We talked about life, we talked about death, we talked about her father whose sickness would soon hasten his reunion with Jesus. I was struck with how her faith in Jesus had grown and thrived while others who had gone to college with us had fallen by the wayside. I was happy to count her among my close friends once again, but one question tugged on my shirtsleeve like a dirty orphan boy…

Why had no one married this wonderful woman?

I have known a lot of people who have mucked up a lot of relationships. I've seen people get married and divorced, some by their own fault, some by the fault of others. Some of us didn't deserve the opportunity we had been given. Maybe none of us deserve it; if we have a good marriage, it's by grace, that favor we are granted which is totally undeserved. We don't deserve to have someone pledge their lives to our love and protection. We don't deserve to have someone vow to honor us, love us, in sickness and in health, until death parts us.

Elizabeth deserves it.

Are you listening, Lord?

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

The Pro-Choice Movement is not

2010-02-19T07:08:00.001-05:00

It's all about freedom of choice. It's all about keeping the U.S. Government out of a woman's uterus. It isn't about abortion per se; it's about the freedom to choose between a number of alternatives, abortion being simply one of many.

Or so they would have you believe.

I may be politically left of center, but I have a low tolerance for bullcrap, and the pro-choice movement is certainly good at dishing it out. Freedom of choice. Let's unpack that for a minute. It's all about freedom of choice, until a woman like Pam Tebow makes a choice that doesn't fit their pre-conceived definition of what a good choice is. It's all about freedom of choice, until Michelle Duggar decides to have as many babies as she is allowed by her creator and her biology. Then it's all about ridiculing her choice and comparing her "womanly area" to a clown car.

(And speaking of Pam Tebow, I'm still waiting for this supposedly controversial ad to air. The pro-choice movement of this nation owes me an apology for wasting my time.)

I believe in the freedom to choose; I also believe that that particular freedom is not unlimited. There are certain choices people should not be allowed to make, even if it is dealing solely with their own body. Even the pro-choice factions would agree. Ask the most rabid feminist whether a woman should participate in the production of pornography. They would tell you (and rightfully so) that pornography cheapens our view of women, that it reduces women to a mere function, that of a glorified sex doll. But if a women chooses to pose, to strip, to screw Ron Jeremy… eww, forget I said that last one. But you see what I'm driving at. A person who is "pro-choice" is really only about protecting their choices.

In an age in which tolerance is the new shibboleth, pro-choicers are the most intolerant of them all. Even as they scream otherwise.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

The Passion of the Christ

2010-02-18T08:05:00.002-05:00

Surely our griefs He Himself bore, And our sorrows He carried; Yet we ourselves esteemed Him stricken, Smitten of God, and afflicted. But He was pierced through for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; The chastening for our well-being fell upon Him, And by His scourging we are healed.
---Isaiah 53:4-5

Christ died to make assholes into good people. He did not die so good people could behave like assholes.

Remember that come election time.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

Lo These 40 Days of Lent

2010-02-17T13:32:00.001-05:00

Lesson number one: a paczki is a jelly doughnut. A paczki is a freaking jelly doughnut! And you can get jelly doughnuts year round. So forget about standing in line outside "a genuine Polish bakery", just go to Krispy Kreme. Forget about looking down your nose at people because you grew up in Parma and that's where the good stuff is at. A PACZKI IS A FREAKING JELLY DOUGHNUT. No more and no less.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

The Old Boy's Club

2010-01-08T11:52:00.002-05:00

What is breast cancer in men?
http://www.cancer.org/docroot/CRI/content/CRI_2_4_1X_What_is_male_breast_cancer_28.asp

Detailed guide: breast cancer in men
http://www.cancer.org/docroot/CRI/CRI_2_3x.asp?dt=28

Breast cancer in men
http://www.menstuff.org/issues/byissue/breastcancer.html

Shaft? He's a bad mother------ who is a survivor
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Roundtree

Peter Criss, former drummer for the rock group Kiss, is a survivor
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/33423027/ns/health-cancer/

Now, why the links? What am I so angry about? I am angry because the general public is led to believe that breast cancer is solely a women's health issue. I am angry because the pink ribbons and pink M&M's and commercials populated solely by women lead men to believe that this is something that won't directly affect their health, therefore, they don't need to worry about it. I am angry because the P.R. firms in charge of marketing breast cancer awareness are sending a subtle message that a man't death from breast cancer just doesn't matter.

But it DOES matter. And it isn't because I like Peter Criss' work with Kiss, and it isn't because Richard Roundtree made classic blaxploitation movies in the 70's. There are plenty of stories at http://www.johnwnickfoundation.org of ordinary men who thought that "this can't happen to me."

But it can. And it does. And it doesn't have to.

Why I am not now nor will I ever be a part of the U.S. Military

2009-10-11T11:28:00.003-04:00

Why ask why? Because it might be a lie.

In the fall of 2001 everyone alive then can tell me what they were doing when the towers went down. I was working in a candy factory, preparing some items for a photography session, and we had the radio on all morning. I can remember the sense of desperation, of speechlessness, in the voice of Peter Jennings when the towers fell. You just couldn't believe it. Time to kick some Middle Eastern ass!

In the days that followed the outer trappings of patriotism became evident everywhere you went. The flags flew out of the stores, the bumper stickers couldn't be printed fast enough, wherever you went someone was going to tell you how much they loved this country and how much they hated the bastards that did what they did.

We began the assault on Afghanistan in October, almost a month after the attacks. The assault on my sensibilities began that very same day. The glee in which people wanted to see those "ragheads" or "towelheads" get theirs was very troubling to me. Mind you, I wasn't against the need for retaliation. What I was against was the almost party-like atmosphere surrounding the rush to war. War is a tragic necessity sometimes. It should never be entered into cavalierly, but soberly, knowing that the life of an enemy combatant is still a human life.

I was a pretty conservative Christian then, but like that one kid in class who always asked "why?", I began to get under people's skins. The church I attended had patriotic services in which the Pledge of Allegiance was recited and military fight songs were sung. I heard a pastor pray that our bombs would find the right targets. After the Iraq War started, a friend of mine prayed for the death of Sadaam Hussein's sons. A young man's decision to join the military was announced in Sunday services, and was met with uproarious applause, a standing ovation.

All of this was troubling to me. Why were people making this connection between service to one's God and service to one's country? Why was it seen as the Christian thing to do? Why did normally sane Christians demonize those who opposed the war with language that would have earned a child a trip to the corner and a mouth washed out with soap? Didn't anyone care that Iraqi Christians were dying too? It was too easy to just call all the Iraqis "terrorists"; it was a little more difficult to realize that those labelled "insurgents" by the press were fighting for their country and loved it just as much as our soldiers loved theirs.

A seismic shift in attitude was happening in my life, but it had its roots in a different time and a different war, one which took place before I was born. Allow me to turn the blog over to my grandmother, in a letter responding to a question I had about my grandfather during World War II:

"He was a pacifist from way back so when World War II came along, he was planning to register in the classification for ministers which would have exempted him from the draft. many people accepted this as they felt ministers would naturally be against fighting. But the CO's had a special derogatory classification. We had three school teachers in our church in Exeter - (a small, very conservative valley town) - two men and one woman. She didn't have to register but she was the wife of one of the men. They were very firm in their CO beliefs and registered as CO's. Grandpa, in order to identify with them, registered as a CO also, rather than as a minister. (Later, they were assigned very demeaning alternate service.)

"The three teachers were fired from their jobs. I was asked to resign from the YWCA leadership for girls in the high school. The minister of the Presbyterian church who had only been there a few months was fired as he registered as a CO also. His organist, a leading socialite in the town, led the crusade against all of us - she was responsible for my being asked to give up the YWCA leadership. One funny thing - in that town everyone went to the post office to get their mail. Often Grandpa would go in the evening or after dark. The word spread that he was meeting with "the enemy." When he saw the lady coming down the street he would purposefully greet her with "good morning Mrs. Clawson!" If she saw him coming she would cross to the other side of the street.

"We had been at Exeter for 2 and 1/2 years when the war was declared so our members knew us pretty well and were very fond of Grandpa. But he told his board of deacons that he was placing his resignation in their hands and if they ever felt they should accept it, he would understand and leave. But we didn't leave for another 2 plus years - and then for him to pursue his doctorate."

The need to question the party line is in my genes and goes way back. But I digress.

As the war in Iraq proceeded, it became apparent that the weapons of mass destruction that we went over there to find just were not there. Didn't matter to the Christians I met with, however; of course they were there, it's just that the liberal, biased mainstream media doesn't want this country to succeed! They want us to fail! They hate this great land of ours! And on and on it went as the brush cast a wide stroke.

I asked myself this question- if we as Christians claim to follow a savior that says he is the way, the truth, and the life, how can we support a position that is obviously untrue? How can we keep on saying, in the face of evidence to the contrary, that this war is just? How can we support the claim that "God told President Bush to go to war", when the reasons President Bush gave for going to war were false? Was God's intelligence faulty? If God counts every hair on our head, would he not know what cave Osama Bin Laden was hiding in? And speaking of Bin Laden, why were we even attacking Iraq? Why not bomb the hell out of Saudi Arabia, since most of the 2001 terrorists were from that country?

And at that point I broke free. The more the Christian Church in America pulled to the right, the more I swung to the opposite position. While conservatives sang the praises of Bush I supported Howard Dean and John Kerry. Michael Moore became a hero of mine. When the Pledge of Allegiance was offered in church, I refused to stand. You won't be seeing a flag fly from my doorway, you won't be seeing me wear any kind of a patriotic t-shirt, and you certainly won't be seeing me congratulate someone for making the decision to join the military during wartime. That decision could very well be a suicide mission. Chances of dying may be slim, but it's more of a chance than I want anyone I know to take.

The actions of Christians who should know better just sicken me these days, to the point that I could very well have titled this blog "Why I am no longer a part of the Christian church." This country has begun a disturbing trend of responding to disagreement with pure venom and hatred, and Christians, who should be known by their love for one another, are now leading the pack. And I can't stomach it anymore.

But that isn't the subject here. I can't support the military because their actions overseas are based on false information; I also can't support the military because they are luring young people in with pure propaganda. Look at the commercials that are abundant these days. The young woman wants to be a part of something bigger than herself, so she is joining the military. Her mother is cast as someone who is uncomfortable with the decision, but is at a loss to explain why. Well, here's a good reason Mom- your daughter could die. Enlisting during wartime, in my opinion, is one of the most godawful decisions a person could make. And the fact is, most young people are not joining the military to be a part of something bigger than themselves, they are joining because it's a job. They are joining for the benefits. They are joining because military life has been painted as a glamorous, noble, brave thing to do; I guess suggesting that you may very well have to take a person's life and watch your friend's brains leak from their head doesn't draw many recruits. How do we bring a person to the point that they can take a person's life, when they have been brought up believing that "thou shalt not kill"? The military does a mighty good job of brainwashing. And when a young person returns home, how do they flip the switch back?

And to the daughter or son that wants to be a part of something "bigger than themself", I say, join the Peace Corps! Volunteer for the Special Olympics! Go to a retirement home and devote yourself to a group of people who need their lives to be as comfortable as possible as they live their final days. You can be a part of something bigger than yourself without killing someone about the same size and age as yourself.

In the interest of full disclosure, I should probably tell you that I grew up in a military family. And that alone was enough to make me swear off ever joining the military.

My father made the decision to join the Coast Guard right out of high school. We have never talked about the reasons why he came to that decision; doesn't really matter, the die was cast in 1961. When I was born, in 1966 in Oswego, New York, he had been in for five years. We moved to Oakland, California before I was a year old. My siblings were all born in Oakland.

Kindergarten- Oakland. Gone. Kindergarten through third grade- Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan. Gone again. Roughly every three years, around the time I might have been able to make some friends, we moved. One time, our second time in California, we were there less than a year before the Coast Guard decided that my father's talents were better served in New Baltimore, Michigan. In New Baltimore I had some horrible experiences (which have been blogged about already- just search for "Anchor Bay High School"), but in 1981 I was finally starting to recognize that not all attention was good attention, I was cleaning up my act, and I was formulating a plan to attract the attention of Beth and Kim, when the orders came down. Gone again.

Now you tell me. How in the hell is a young person supposed to form any kind of self-confidence, any kind of identity that is uniquely his/her own, when they are yanked from their surroundings every three years and sent back to square zero again and again? Answer- they can't. At least, it is very hard. I can only imagine how different my life may have turned out without the influence of the Coast Guard hounding my every step.

The military did a good job of f***ing up my life. For that reason alone I am anti-military. But I also have no desire to see any young people giving up their life for an illusion. If my son wasn't autistic, and he expressed the desire to join the military, we would have a fight on our hands. I would lie down in front of the bus if I had to in order to save his life. That's just what fathers do. Or are supposed to do.

Why ask why? Because it might be a lie.

Notes on a lost civilization (or: How I learned to stop worrying and love grocery shopping)

2009-10-09T13:32:00.002-04:00

Grocery shopping has long been a male ritual in my family. I think my mom has been grocery shopping three or four times, and only because my dad was recovering from surgery each time. Otherwise, my father does it. He has turned the drudgery of grocery shopping into a sweet science. One cart- that's all he needs, no matter how many groceries he is buying. Many a time I've been regaled with tales of his grocery shopping exploits, usually involving the phrase "If I can fit groceries for a family of six into one cart...."

I've always said that if a man wants to eat, he needs to learn to cook. Well, if a man wants to cook, he has to get the groceries. So I took a trip to Wal-Mart today to pick up some things. These are my reflections on the journey.

-Note to all women- when shopping for a pair of pants, take special note as to whether your butt crack is visible whilst bending or crouching. There are certain things a man does not need to see. "Pervert!", you cry. "If you can't keep your eyes to yourself, you're the one with the problem!" All very true. If a man has to go through head contortions to take a peek, then he has a problem. If your ass chasm is hanging out for even the smallest child to see, the problem is yours.

-The rules of the aisle way should be just like the rules of the road. Drive on the right, pass on the left. Do not stop your cart in the middle of the aisle and just stand there. I need to purchase soup too, and in order to do so, I need to see what is available. On a related note, if I am obviously perusing the selections of Chunky and Progresso, do not pull right in front of me and stop. Simply say "excuse me", and I will move out of your way. My life will not end if I can't grab that delicious can of Hearty Tomato in the next 60 seconds. Neither will yours.

-Don't just barrel your way from the end of the aisle into the clearing on your way to the next. Stop, look and listen. That's all I'm saying.

-Pink labels are everywhere. For good cause. Do we even have to ask if people are against breast cancer? Is anyone answering "no" to this survey? But here's some food for thought- men get it too. It may "only" be one man for every hundred women, but men get it too.

-If I am with my child and he or she begins to make unusual noises, perhaps flapping his arms while doing so, or even laughing hysterically over nothing at all, do not stare and do not gawk. Smile if you have to do something, and then be on your way. If my child is throwing a wicked tantrum, I do not need your condescending glances. My children are autistic. What's your excuse?

-There is one aisle I DO NOT DO. I am not going to tell you what it is, but if I was mountain climbing on snow and ice, I might need my crampons. Let he who has ears to hear, let him hear.

-Every grocery shopping excursion ends with the mad checkout hunt. You know you have more than twenty items, but you count anyway to see if you can squeeze through. I have news for you- you aren't the only one who is counting. If you try to slip 35 items past, I can guarantee you more than one person behind you knows how many you have.

-The cashier is a man or a woman simply marking time until they get to go home. They aren't your friend; they aren't your therapist. They don't want to know that pinto beans give you wicked diarrhea; they could care less that you really need those Trojans tonight. And I don't care either. I just want to go home. Remember: you are NOT the only one shopping today.

-In aisle number 6, amidst the Red Lobster gift cards and the Lifesavers, they are selling a product called Soft Lips. The slogan for Soft Lips reads: "Soft Lips... because lips should be soft." Oh boy.

If laughter is the best medicine, then the checkout aisle provides the next cure for cancer in the form of the supermarket tabloid. Let's take a peek at the Pulitzer Prize-winning material on display, shall we?
-"What He Thinks During Sex!" Umm, I think I can answer that for you. We don't.
-"Foreplay Men Crave! Touch His Secret Erotic Spot (Surprise: It Doesn't Rhyme With Shmenis)" Maybe not. Smart money is on shank, shunk or even schtick.
-"The Crazy, Dirty, Worried and Yes, Sweet Stuff That Goes Through His Mind When You Two Get Naked!"
Crazy- "I wonder if we can do it on the roof this time."
Dirty- "I wonder if we can do it in the mud this time."
Worried- "I wonder why she doesn't want to do it in front of the camera this time."
Sweet- (visions of creative uses of strawberries and whipped cream)
-"The Gosselin Kids To Jon and Kate: Stop Wrecking Our Lives!" The Gosselin viewers to Jon and Kate: Stop wrecking OUR lives!
-"Khloe Kardashian Slams Critics: Stop Calling Me Fat!" Umm... who the hell is this woman?
-And speaking of all things Kardashian, how did these women get famous? What did they do? Did they win an award? Do they run a children's hospital? Or do they just have big boobs? Monty, I go with door number 3....
-"Elizabeth Smart: Her Fight For Justice!" Her fight should also be with the tabloid writers and "news" personalities who continue to make her front page material. Here's a thought- this girl has been through hell and back and through hell again. Just leave her alone already.

And once my food is paid for, I am on my way out the door. But wait: there's more. Because sandwiched between each set of exit doors is a wall which contains other vendors. A bank. An H&R Block office. Customer Service. And a place where people are getting pedicures. Oh my. Why? When I am hungry and on my way to my car so I can break into the Junior Mints, why, oh why do you want to put your fat, ugly feet on display like that? And I can only peer into the abyss and wonder what those poor workers are thinking. They are probably cursing the events of life that brought them to this point, and praying for the sweet release that only death can bring.

And off to my car I go, visions of the chicken paprikash I will be making for dinner tonight dancing in my head.

All I need to know in life I still know from listening to Kiss

2009-09-26T08:52:00.002-04:00

I wrote this a couple of years ago. Seemed like it would be appropriate to reprint it since I am seeing Kiss for the fourth time this Monday.
___________________________________________________

Interesting how music stays with you.

30 years ago I was an 11-year-old boy who had just moved to Ohio from Michigan. It was the summer of 1977 and I remember it well because Elvis Presley had just died. We took a family trip to the store, and being the impressionable youngster that I was, I wanted a record album. But not just any record album, mind you. We had just spent some time with my mother's family, including cousins who were in their late teens/early twenties, and I wanted the music they were listening to. I wanted…

"You can look at the records, but no Kiss!" my father intoned authoritatively.

Well, crap. That's the group I wanted. So I did what any rational 11-year-old boy would do when he wanted his own way- I threw a fit in the middle of K-mart. Having two children of my own who are prone to fits, I know how embarrassing they can be to a parent. At the time, of course, I didn't care. I had the allowance money available, and I wanted a Kiss album! I wanted a Kiss album! Soon my father relented, with the understanding that under no circumstances would the volume approach the level appreciated by Dan and Don. "Sure," I said with a wink. I would just wait until you weren't home. With the deal struck I was allowed to peruse the rock music selections, and I left the store with a copy of Love Gun, Kiss' latest effort.

I was entering a whole new world, a world of Circus magazine and loud guitars, a world where parents refused to enter and we didn't want them there anyway. I wasn't a teen yet, but I was on the fast track. And the 10 questions on my entrance exam concerned Plaster Casters and Love Guns, bass guitar players who were Almost Human and had Love For Sale, Hooligans and sixteen-year-old girls named Christine. I had just become a buck private in the Kiss Army.

Love Gun may have been my entrance exam, but Kiss Alive! became my graduate thesis. Alive was my second Kiss album and to this day is my favorite. The combination of the costumes, grease paint and sheer energy of the music made me a fan for life. I memorized the lyrics, copied the signatures from the bands' notes on the inside, and knew all of Paul Stanley's stage raps. I didn't know what partying e-vah-ree day meant, I didn't know why Gene's baby was worth the Deuce, but I knew I had Nothing To Lose. What a fantastic album.

As I entered junior high school, I quickly discovered that not everyone shared my appreciation for the hottest band in the world. "Kiss sucks!" became a battle cry. I was belittled for my music choices, but I didn't care. I may have been desperate for the approval of my peers, but in the matter of who reigned supreme in the music world I granted no quarter. Kiss taught me non-conformity at an age when being accepted meant the world.

One day on the schoolbus I got into a conversation with a red-haired kid named Billy Bowen. Why we started talking I have no idea. I just remember that the conversation turned to music. He asked me what my favorite bands were and I can remember thinking that I had a choice: either be honest and tell him that I like Kiss, or throw the name of Kiss in with a few other bands and hope he didn't notice. Not feeling like engaging in fisticuffs, I chose the latter.

"I like Kiss and REO Speedwagon," I replied.

"Cool. I like Kiss too." And a friendship was born.

Billy Bowen and I became fast friends. This was unusual, as military brats such as ourselves usually had a couple of years before our dads got the orders and we were shipped elsewhere. But the two of us bonded. We liked Kiss and girls, girls and Kiss. He made Anchor Bay Junior High School a little more bearable for me.

Early in 1979 I was perusing the newspaper when four familiar letters caught my eye. KISS, Pontiac Silverdome, July 13, 1979. My heart skipped a beat. Kiss! In Detroit! I have to go! How I would get there never crossed my mind. I just knew that I was going. When I got to the bus stop the next day Billy already knew. Kiss was coming! And his father was going to drive us there!

For the next few months I could think of nothing else except July 13^th and the Kiss Dynasty tour. I gave Billy the money, his dad bought the tickets, and I counted the days. Finally the day came. Billy's dad dropped us off at the Silverdome and left us there. Think about that for a minute. Two twelve-year-old kids alone at a Kiss concert? How in the world did that even happen?

We had packed up our tape recorders and cassette tapes, innocently thinking that we could just waltz in with recording equipment and tape the concert. Rude awakening number two. The security guards stopped us at the gate and would not let us in. Once we convinced them that we were just two stupid kids, they confiscated our tapes and sent us through. We had entered the promised land!

If you have read this far then you know that I thought the show was fantastic. Fire breathing! Blood spitting! Bass guitarists flying and lead guitars smoking! King of the Nighttime World! 2,000 Man! Rock and Roll All Night! I was in heaven.

Flash-forward 17 years. The makeup came, the makeup went, and the makeup came again. The boys were getting the original lineup back together and July 20, 1996 was my date with infamy. When it was go-time I knew all the words to every song and sang them all with reckless abandon. About three songs in I realized I was crying. Crying? There's no crying at Kiss concerts! But I was happy. I realized that I was finally doing something for the pure sake of doing it, not to prove I was Christian enough, not for some higher lofty motive, but just because it gave me joy.
_________________________________________________

32 years after that first album I am now a 43-year-old father of two children with autism. I am no longer in the mood for anyone's crap. The things I once fought for I now let sit at the roadside. If you want to argue about things like communion bread, if you want to paint a Hitler moustache on a picture of Barack Obama, if you want to try and convince me that KISS stands for Knights In Satan's Service- well, you just keep on walking, jack.

I still listen to Kiss.

It's a living comic book, folks. Nothing more, nothing less. When the Starchild, the Demon, the Spaceman and the Cat take the stage on September 28, they are not there to convert, they are not there to subvert- they are there to entertain.

I know, it's only rock and roll, but I like it.

A

2009-09-19T09:10:00.002-04:00

I woke up this morning, a Saturday morning mind you, at 7AM. I should have been able to sleep in, but my son decided to wake me up with the sound of his head banging against the wall in his room. It's a typical behavior for him, and has been going on for a couple of years at least. I wake him up and immediately give him his morning dosage of behavior medication- one Respirdal, one-half Clonazepam. I'll repeat the routine in 6 hours, and again in another 6. Fat lot of good it does sometimes, but that's the thing with behavior medication; you throw everything against the wall and see what sticks. He takes the medicine, but kicks the filing cabinet and attempts to bang his head on it the whole time. Before the school system bought him a rubber helmet, I was regularly taking him to the emergency room to have the cuts in his head stapled shut.

After medication time it is diaper-changing time. He wears two diapers at night to guard against spillage and leaking. I pull the back open to see what I am faced with. Nothing. Good. I have him take the diapers off and put the new one on. One down, one to go. We go back to the living room where he commences the head-banging routine once again. Crap. It's going to be that kind of a day.

My daughter wakes up an hour later, seeking out a drink. She finds the pre-poured beverage on the table. My son sees her, and the head-banging takes on a renewed intensity. OK, wifey, time to get up. I can't take them both on by myself. My son retreats to the master bedroom to be calmed by a woman more patient than I, and I take my daughter into the bedroom for diaper-changing round two. Changing a girl's diaper is a little more challenging. There are more places for the poop to hide. Like a properly raised female, she clenches her thighs together. Good behavior for her post-junior high years, not a good behavior when you are trying to wipe. The waste is cleaned, and I stretch the barely-fitting pullup over her ample butt.

Have I mentioned that my daughter is seven and my son is nine?

Were you to enter our house you would immediately notice a large hole in the wall next to the TV. My son put it there with his head. Continuing the tour, we see a smaller hole next to the light switch by the door. Over on our right we have my son's bedroom. Four huge holes have been repaired; all that remains there is the painting. Down the hall we have my daughter's bedroom. Just one big hole. Across the hall is another large hole in the master bedroom. At least in theory it's my bedroom. In practice it is my wife's bedroom. I sleep in the recliner in the living room. A comfortable chair it is, but not a bed. I sleep there out of necessity; in the middle of the night when my son tries to redecorate his bedroom with his head, I need to be able to hear it and stop him as soon as I can.

My wife and I are more two roommates than a couple united by God in a loving relationship. We don't go to the movies, we don't go out to eat, we don't get together with other couples and discuss the events of the day. We don't go on walks, we don't have intellectual conversations, we don't have sex. Our lives are entirely wrapped up in keeping my son from hurting himself and my daughter calm in order that my son won't enter meltdown mode. We change the diapers every hour and a half. We constantly shoo my daughter away from the refrigerator so she won't eat butter. My son wants candy? He really should eat his dinner first, but at this point we are so tired of the destruction that we just give him the damn candy. Spoiled? Oh, probably. But maybe you would like to tell us how we are going to pay for repairing the holes in the wall.

The anti-depressant industry loves people like us. I take two, my wife takes six. She has had four hospital stays in the past five years. I've developed a heart condition. We almost got divorced two years ago. I do my best to keep things together because if I don't, no one else is going to do it for me. When someone asks what they can do for us, I ask for babysitting. I ask for a dinner invitation. I ask for some relief. And I generally never hear the question from the same person again. It's easy to appear caring; it's harder to actually do it.

I am supposed to attend the fourth birthday party of my nephew Chris this evening. Chris is an interesting little boy; he has a fascination with superheroes, and can recite the names of the major players as well as their alter egos upon request. He also spouts out the funniest lines without even thinking about it. He's unique; when you are the only grandchild/great-grandchild you get a different kind of attention than when you are fourth or fifth in line. Even though I don't get to see him much, I love him.

I am jealous of Chris. I am jealous that he can tell his mother that he loves her; I am jealous that he knows what the letter P is; I am jealous that his four-year-old vocabulary is more now than my son's may be over his entire life. I am jealous that when Chris has to take a crap, my niece just tells him where the bathroom is and reminds him to shut the door. When Matthew has to take a crap, he just goes where he stands. To have to change the messy diaper of a nine-year-old is not cute, it's not pretty, it stinks and it is depressing.

I think I talked about diaper-changing already. Well, the damn things don't change themselves.

This isn't how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be married at 24, to a woman I grew up knowing; by now we would have had at least four children, ages 18, 16, 14, 12. I would be teaching my sons how to bunt; I would be watching my daughter sink the jump shot to win the game. I would be convincing my daughter once again that her value is not in what a guy thinks of her body; her value is inherent. She is valuable because she is. I would be telling my son that to be a man means having "the will to give and not receive/ the strength to say what you believe/ the heart to feel what others feel inside/ to see what they can see" (Boston, "To Be A Man") Nightly dinner conversations would turn to politics and the world situation. I would marvel at how my children had taken the drivel I instilled in them, synthesized it with opinions both left and right, and developed their own view of the world. I would be shedding manifold tears as I drop the suitcases on the unmade bed and leave my daughter at college, hugging my little girl and leaving a young woman behind.

Sometimes life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.

I have to go.

Day number 1,975 with autism has just begun.

Twenty-Five

2009-06-19T21:47:00.001-04:00

Tomorrow in New Baltimore, Michigan, the Anchor Bay High School Class of '84 will celebrate their 25^th anniversary class reunion. And I wish I could be there.

I've written about my experience in the Anchor Bay School System in the posts The Freshman and The Homecoming Queen and The Anchor Bay Experience (Postscript). The short story is that I went to junior high and high school there, became a teenager there and going through the changes that all teens go through. And just at the point where I could feel my attitudes toward life turning the corner, we left the area. We moved to Elyria thanks to the United States Coast Guard, and a different chapter of my life opened up. But I never got closure.

As their 25^th reunion approached I contacted Greta Furlong, who I knew as Greta Lenhausen, and asked if I would be welcome to attend. I said that I had been seeking out people from my years there, and finally felt as if I was getting the closure I sought. She wrote back invited me to attend the festivities. She also reminded me that although reminiscing can be a good thing, we can't live in the past.

But I still can't help playing the what-if game. I left after freshman year. Life moved on for them, and I am sure none of the people I knew gave me much thought after I left. I never could get them out of my mind, however. In my thoughts I wondered if I ever would have started dating there. Would I have been given a chance? Would the ladies of Anchor Bay High School have been able to look past the greaseball of 7^th grade and see a maturing human being with the capacity to care for them? We will never know.

I've been spending time on the Anchor Bay 84 website, looking at old senior pictures, seeing what people have been up to, watching how people have aged. Greta was right, as she often was 30 years ago when I knew her and she was upbraiding me for my negative attention-seeking behavior. We can't live in the past. I can't wonder who I might have married because they are all married already. I can't wonder if I would have played football or have finally gotten some measure of respect from the ones who taunted and tormented me, because it's over. As Daniel Farraday said on LOST, "Whatever happened, happened."

Greta, Robin… Michael, Bill, Robert, Keith… Kim, Beth, Sheri…. Have a good Saturday. And a great life.

Talk To Me

2009-06-13T14:35:00.001-04:00

It is hard to write essays when you know your mom is reading them. If I advance an idea that she doesn't like, or use one of those words that, in prior years, automatically got my mouth a date with some soap, my mom will call me on the carpet over it. Not that I automatically cower in her presence. Both of my parents have come to realize that, while their children have a healthy respect and love for them, we also have ideas and beliefs that differ from theirs. When they come across some aspect of our behavior that troubles them, they talk to us about it. For the most part. Certain political discussions are avoided like the plague.

On the other hand, my in-laws talk to me about absolutely nothing. Example? This blog. Up until now I assumed that their refusal to have anything to do with the Internet meant that my at times profane meanderings were out of their sphere. I guessed wrong. My wife talked to them on the phone a few days ago, and in the course of the conversation they mentioned that someone in their church read my blog, and am I really not interested in Christ any more? And do I really have to use that kind of language? I'm sorry if they got that impression, but if they really wanted to know the real story, I'm only a phone call away.

So someone from Chippewa Lake Baptist Church is reading this, huh? Well, Chippewa, this Bud is for you.

I have spent the past three or four years detailing the highlights and lowlights of my spiritual journey, but I am 42 years old, with two children who are disabled, and I just can't care about the minutiae of church life anymore....Yeah, I am just a tad bitter these days. I am bearing the weight of three worlds on these shoulders. No wonder that I just don't have the time for the bullshit anymore, whether it be in church or in life.

Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.

For Cathy

2008-06-17T09:29:00.004-04:00

Hey kind friend
I dont know when Ill see you again
On a ferry boat bound to victoria
Laying down to hide from the wind

Big dipper hangin over the city
You know everything now is different for me
And it aint no use in
Explainin the scenery

I said
Kind friend
Help me forget where I been
Kind friend
Remember who I am

I was too late in spokane
So I caught a ride through the cascade range
I saw the sun die in olympia
Running down on capital lake

Now I ask you for some relief
Its one true root that you bring to me
Its 3 am
And its good company

I said
Hey kind friend
Help me forget where I been
Hey kind friend
Help me remember who I am

Hey kind friend
Dont know if Im gonna see you again
Its okay friend
Its okay friend

(its so hard when they all have to face going away)

So Ill meet you in new orleans or Ill see you around
Cause I dont know if its worth coming down
Hey Im calling you
From a goldrush town

And I say
Hey kind friend
Help me forget where Ive been
Hey kind friend
Help me remember who I am

Hey kind friend
I dont know if Im gonna see you again
Its ok friend
Im ok friend

I said Im ok friend
Im ok friend

(see ya later)

When real life has other plans for you

2008-04-18T13:04:00.001-04:00

It has been quite a while since I have done anything close to regular posting on this blog.

In November a family member was hospitalized for mental health issues. In January it happened again. I have been dealing with a lot of crap, most of which I'm not posting here. It isn't like anyone gives a rat's a** about this blog anyway, but still, I'm not posting some of the personal stuff.

There came a certain point last year when I gave up on blogs. Who really cares? Most bloggers pretend that their opinions on the issues of the day are more important than they really are. I used to pay close attention to my site statistics because I aspired to be read, as if to be read gives me a certain sense of worth that would not exist otherwise.

But I like to write. So if no one reads this stuff, I don't care. I like to write it and have it stored somewhere, and a blog provides me that opportunity.

So that's where I stand.

In the days of my youth

2007-11-25T14:46:00.001-05:00

In the days of my youth
I was told what it means to be a man
Now I've reached that age
I've tried to do all those things the best I can
No matter how I try
I find my way to the same old jam
---Led Zeppelin, "Good Times Bad Times"

Let me tell you about my wife. I love my wife and think she is incredibly beautiful. If I posted a picture of her, some people might agree, and some might say "Ehh, overrated if you ask me." But I think she is lovely so the heck with the other opinions. All in the eye of the beholder.

Kind of like that with music. I grew up when Led Zeppelin was still together, before John Bonham died. My cousins were typical 70's classic rock lovers, with their bedrooms full of Nazareth, Nugent, Johnny Winter Group... anything Circus magazine covered at the time. But they loved Zep. The cool guys in my junior high and high school all loved Zep. I just didn't get it and didn't care. My band was Kiss. I got into a lot of Kiss vs Zep arguments/fights. I can remember when Bonham died. A lot of guys were bummed because they had tickets to the upcoming tour. For me... Zep was gone and good riddance. I would have told you that they were incredibly overrated. Fool In The Rain? What the hell was that crap, Beavis?

You've been learnin'
And baby, I been learnin'
All them good times
Baby, baby, I've been discernin'-a
---Led Zeppelin, "Whole Lotta Love"

Flash forward 15 years. Page and Plant put out the No Quarter album, and just out of curiosity I watch the show. The song Thank You comes on and I am very taken with how beautiful the song is. All of a sudden I have to give Zeppelin a second look. Now Thank You is the same song now that it was then that it was in the 70's, but I am different, and looking at it through a music lover's eyes rather than a junior high "clique A vs clique B" attitude. I bought the CD but still didn't think about getting into the Zeppelin catalog. I didn't want to hear any backwards messages or anything. (Not that there were any; that was just my mindset at the time.)

Jump ahead another ten years. It is now 2006-2007. I am still a big Kiss fan, and I have just discovered the magic of bootlegs. A downloadin' I will go. Amidst the 200-plus shows I get by Kiss, I notice some Zeppelin boots. My inner stoner says to taste and see that the Zep is good, and I comply. The 1977 Cleveland "Destroyer" show didn't do much for me, but when I downloaded the Blueberry Hill boot... well holy stinkin' crap. That concert kicked my a**. When this band get this good? I had to get as much as I could. 80 shows is nowhere near what is available, but some trading vines are going to bump up my total.

To make a short story long, my point is this. Was Zeppelin overrated in 1979 but the greatest thing since sliced bread in 2007? No; they were the same band playing the same music. I was the one that changed. I found it much easier to appreciate the band's musicianship when teenage boys weren't threatening to kick my a** unless I traded in my Kiss Army badge for four runes. Time changes perspective. I think that Jeff Beck is just another guitarist. I hear Eddie Van Halen and think "ehh, whatever." Give me some time and maybe I will change my tune (pun intended).

Do I think Led Zeppelin is overrated? No, but my opinion doesn't really matter that much. I personally think that history will hold out Led Zeppelin as very influential in the course of hard rock music. The fact that they could pull off electric blues, hard rock and folk music on the same album, and made it sound cohesive (in most cases) testifies to their musicianship. Yeah, they stole from blues masters. Bob Dylan stole from old folk records; Alex Haley plagiarized a good portion of Roots. Their art still had an influence that went beyond their "reworking" of original material. Heck, without the Zeppelin records I would never have bothered to check out the old blues stuff.

If you like Zep, raise the banner high. If you don't like them and think they're overrated, turn people on to the bands you do like. There are people out there who need to be turned on to a fantastic show that you have your hands on. Go out and spread the word!

Little drops of rain whisper of the pain
Tears of loves lost in the days gone by
My love is strong, with you there is no wrong
Together we shall go until we die, my, my, my
An inspiration's what you are to me, inspiration, look and see
---Led Zeppelin, "Thank You"

A Father's Story

2007-11-16T14:26:00.000-05:00

This is the one entry that I am most proud of. I wrote this two years ago in the hour before I had to get my kids on the bus for school, and it is probably my most read piece of writing, due to the fact that it was printed in the local newspaper as part of a feature story on autism.

Two years later, I look back on this article and feel like at times I romanticized daily life as the parent of two autistic children. I do talk about the struggles but state that it is all worthwhile. Well, let me tell you, the struggles sometimes don't feel worthwhile. When your son is screaming for hours, you don't feel blessed, you feel angry and depressed. When your daughter wets the couch for the umpteenth time, you don't feel overjoyed that she is still your daughter, you wonder whether you will be changing diapers when your kids are in their twenties.

Don't get the wrong impression. I love my children as much as life itself. But life with two disabled children is fraught with difficulties. If you know someone whose children are disabled, buy them dinner sometime. Chat with them. Give them some respite.

This was originally published on January 17, 2006.

A Father's Story

PART I
Out on the ocean sailing away
I can hardly wait
To see you come of age
But I guess we’ll both just have to be patient
’cause it’s a long way to go
A hard row to hoe
Yes it’s a long way to go
But in the meantime

Before you cross the street
Take my hand
Life is what happens to you
While you’re busy making other plans
Beautiful boy
---John Lennon, “Beautiful Boy”

My wife and I had been married just shy of a year when we discovered that we were expecting our first child. I had developed a brilliant plan. I knew that with the dawning of the year 2000 just around the corner, any child lucky enough to be the first baby born in their communities would make out like bandits. There isn't anything a manufacturer of baby-related goods loves more than to get their name out before the public. So... Laura and I were planning on starting a family anyway- why not make it our goal to have the baby on January 1st, 2000? The Y2K baby. We would be drowning in free diapers, formula and “Y2K” onesies.

Laura's biology didn't cooperate with my material desires, however. We found out we were expecting in June of 1999, with an E.T.A. of February 2000. Man, a guy just can't cut a break :) We were ecstatic. We started our marriage wanting a large family, and now we were going to get our first crack at it. I was so excited that I declared myself the official father of the new millennium, and even had a t-shirt made to commemorate the occasion.

We had decided early on that if we had a son we would name him Matthew. His middle name, Stanley, is in honor of my grandfather Arthur Stanley MacNair Jr., specifically, as well as my great-grandfather and my father, both of whom had the middle name of Stanley. My grandfather was an American Baptist minister for over 50 years. He was a compassionate man, an educated man, an important man who always had time for his family. There aren't that many people in my life who have earned my respect, but Grandpa Mac will always be one of those people. He has been dead for 9 years but I haven't stopped missing him. If my son grows up to be half the man that his great-grandfather was I will be a happy man.

Laura went into the hospital on Monday night, January 31st, 2000. The plan was to induce labor on Tuesday morning. Seeing how nothing was happening that night, I went home to watch pro wrestling (catching a lot of grief from my sister in the process) and came back in the morning. All vestiges of Laura's modesty were stripped away, and the waiting began. Contractions came, contractions went...but no baby. February 1st came and went- the first day.

Second verse- same as the first. Hours went by. Finally, after 30 hours of labor without a baby to show for it, they decided to do a C-section. The baby would be born on Groundhog Day. I cracked a joke to the effect that if the baby saw his shadow there would be six more weeks of pregnancy… but it didn't go over very well. They wheeled her away and came to get me an hour later. When I went into the operating room my wife was on the table, her arms stretched out, a curtain hanging just below her chest. Her abdomen had been cut straight across and the skin stretched open, and there was blood. The Discovery Channel had not adequately prepared me for how cool this would be. I mean, you think you know your spouse, but you really don't know her until you see her guts, you know? A short while later the doctor pulled this purple, rubbery looking human out of the depths, and my first thought was "oh man, there was a human being in there!" Matthew Stanley MacNair entered the world at 2:25 PM, out of a window instead of the door.

Laura and I both had expectations- all new parents do. I wasn’t much different from most new fathers- I wanted to take him to the circus, I wanted to take him to the baseball game, I wanted him to throw the winning pass in the championship football game and sink the buzzer-beating fullcourt shot to win the state tournament. It’s all the rage these days to poke fun at fathers, and consider their parental goals superficial; I’m here to tell you that even though my goals and plans were different from my wife's, they were no less meaningful to me. One of my earliest memories is that of sitting in the nosebleed seats at Oakland Coliseum in the early 70’s, watching the great Oakland A’s of that time, shelling peanuts and having a great time with my grandfather, father and brother. I wanted a chance to relive that experience with my son.

Real-life intruded at the age of two when we noticed he wasn’t talking. No big deal- he’s just a little slow, he’ll get the hang of it. When months went by and he still wasn’t developing a vocabulary, we began to get concerned. You never think about troubles arising when you’re beaming over that 9-pound bundle of joy in the delivery room. (I thought it would be cool to have a ten-pound baby, but Laura… we’ll just say that she didn’t approve of my aspirations.) But Matthew Stanley MacNair was our son. We loved him and would continue to love him no matter what.

If we had a real two cents for every time someone threw in their two cents, we would be rich. Everyone had advice. Everyone knew someone who didn’t talk until they were five or something. We might get a forwarded e-mail, or a newspaper clipping, or a friendly tap on the shoulder after church. I’m a brash and upfront person by nature, and I really wanted to say “Hey! If you want to help us, just invite us for dinner or something. Save the advice. We’ve had enough for one lifetime.” I held my tongue.

At the age of three we started seeing a pediatric neurologist named Max Wiznitzer. Now, I don’t believe in labels. I think labelling a child can restrict how people interact with him or her, and define that child for years to come. I didn’t want people to look askance at my child. I was ready to take up arms against anyone who would give me “the pity look.” Yet I also wanted to know what was wrong. I wanted to hear my child say “I love you Daddy!” I wanted someone to get me a Pepsi from the fridge when I was too lazy to get up :) I wanted… normal. What fathers have experienced for generations gone by.

We received the diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder when Matt was four. My hopes and dreams slowly toppled. I had to develop a different set of goals for my son. When other kids were dressing themselves, I had to help my son get his head and arms through the right hole. When other kids were going out for soccer, my son had to be watched so he wouldn’t take his diaper off in public and put the contents in his mouth. It was a frustrating experience. It didn’t, however, keep me from loving my son. Normal? Next question, please. I had to change my definition of what that was.

PART II
I look for my future
And I feel a peace about my past
Surprised by joy
I see my Father’s mercy in you
You make a fine tutor
And my vocation’s clear at last
I can’t wait to hear you call me something
Or see the world as you do

Rebecca
You are the laughter in your (father’s) eyes
The stars are bright
But not like the shine I’ve taken to you

And who gave who the gift of life
We call it a toss-up
But these changes in me tell the real truth
I’m grateful for you
---Ashley Cleveland, “Rebecca”

In the span of three days, January 21-23, 2001, our car died, I was fired from my job at a chocolate factory, and we discovered that we were expecting our second child. The party line is always “I’ll love my child no matter what sex it is”, and that’s true, but the fact is that I really wanted a girl this time. I wanted a little sweetheart that would wrap me around her little finger. I wanted to braid her hair like my grandfather braided my sisters hair. I wanted a girl that I would one day walk down the aisle… when she was 43, of course :)

Once again we had a name picked out very early on. I wanted to name my daughter Rebecca, after a song I’d heard. No Becky, no Becca or Bekah or any variation- Rebecca. Sweet and feminine. For a middle name we chose Evelyn. Evelyn Jean MacNair was my aunt, my advisor, one of my best friends. She passed away in April of 2001 at the age of 49 after two heart attacks. Rebecca Evelyn’s due date- my birthday. Yes!

Laura’s second C-section caused Rebecca to be born a week early. She weighed in heavier than her brother did, tipping the scales at 9 pounds, 5 ounces. Another week and we would have had ten pounds, I know it :) We took up residence in the birthing suites at EMH, and a few days later Matthew got to meet his little sister. The first thing he did was grasp her head and then twist it sharply. That would be the most interaction he would have with her for two years.

I quickly made plans to reign in her adolescent years. No dating until age 18, of course. When she first brought a boy over I would place a shotgun in the corner. I wouldn’t say anything about it. Just the mere presence of a firearm would get my message across- if you mess with my daughter, you mess with me.

Rebecca’s development progressed at a normal rate for her first two years. She babbled quite frequently and had a personality all her own. And she was as cute as a button! We nicknamed her Rebecca Boo, after a character in the movie “Monsters Inc.” She wasn’t talking right away, but we were sure that she would soon enough, and we would never be able to silence her :)

Yet once again we made the rounds of tests, and paperwork, and specialists, and more paperwork… until September of last year, when Dr. Roberta Bauer of the Children’s Hospital for Rehabilitation diagnosed her with Autism Spectrum Disorder and Pervasive Development Disorder. I can’t put in print what my thoughts were at that moment because I was pretty angry. Not at the doctor, but at the situation. Laura and I had planned to have a large family, but now we weren’t sure if we wanted to become a breeding ground for the special education services of Lorain County. Dating, marriage- would that even happen now? We were cast off into the darkness, a ship without a lighthouse to guide it. What the future held was a secret locked up with the key thrown away.

PART III
And your heart beats so slow
Through the rain and fallen snow
Across the fields of mourning
To a light that’s in the distance

Oh, don't sorrow
No don't weep for tonight
At last I am coming home
I am coming home
---U2, “A Sort of Homecoming”

I am not sorry that Matthew and Rebecca were born. My children are blessings to me and I love them. I wouldn’t have chosen for them to be born with development disorders, but sometimes you just have to play the hand you’re dealt. I try to be an involved father. I go to all of their school conferences and I maintain strong communication with their teachers. I try to make it to school parties in which parents are invited. I attend a parents support group where quite often I am the only man there. I don’t care. When the discussion topics turn personal I just go to the snack table and grab another soda :)

Let me entrust to you a secret, a secret which you can then shout from the mountaintops. Sean MacNair loves his children. No qualifiers. No “if only…” attached to the sentence. I am their father, and if a father is any kind of a man he will be there for his kids. End of discussion. Now if you will excuse me, it is time to put them on the schoolbus.

Have a good day, kids. You make me proud.

Speaking In Tongues

2007-11-15T14:55:00.000-05:00

Originally published on Friday, February 10, and Sunday, February 12, 2006

Speaking in tongues

“It would be an arbitrary and strange interpretation of Scripture that would make tongues-speaking in the New Testament anything other than known languages. There is no trace of Scriptural evidence that tongues were ever heard by anyone as incoherent, incomprehensible babbling.”-Lehman Strauss, “Speaking In Tongues”

“All these things being true, it is not difficult to see why God would use the speaking in tongues to express the greatest, most wonderful experience that mortal man could receive. In the baptism of the Holy Ghost, His Spirit and yours become one. He uses your tongue and voice to express it. It is a wonder of wonders, chosen not by man, but by God, the sovereign ruler of the universe. Why be found fighting against Him? Believe His Word, accept what He says and you too can receive the baptism of the Holy Ghost.”-Fred E. Kinzie, “Why Did God Choose Tongues?”

“Finally, I must conclude that I am convinced both biblically and experientially that when people receive the Holy Spirit they do indeed speak with other tongues. Now it is not tongues that we should seek for. As I heard one preacher say, "You don’t go to a shoe store and buy tongues. You buy shoes and the tongues come with the shoes." So it is with the Holy Spirit. We should seek to be filled with the Spirit and when we are we will speak with other tongues.”-William Arnold III, “Why I Speak In Tongues”

“Some gifts were intended to be temporary. I Corinthians 13:8—“where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.” Notice tongues is associated with prophecy and knowledge. They always go together. These three gifts were given for the introductory stage of the church until the complete revelation of God was given. We now have that revelation in the Bible and we have no reason to expect any new revelation. Since there is no new gospel truth, there is no need for these gifts.”-Randy Childress, “Why I Don’t Speak In Tongues”

Interesting. One says that tongues are for today, one says they aren’t. They both turn towards the Bible to buttress their claims. The "cessationist" says that speaking in tongues means speaking in an actual language that someone understands. The miracle of different languages was needed in the beginning for the furtherance of the gospel, and was meant for the apostles to found the church. Once they died, tongues disappeared. Are they right? Let's see.

MARK 16:14-18
Later He appeared to the eleven as they sat at the table; and He rebuked their unbelief and hardness of heart, because they did not believe those who had seen Him after He had risen. And He said to them, “Go into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature. He who believes and is baptized will be saved; but he who does not believe will be condemned. And these signs will follow those who believe: In My name they will cast out demons; they will speak with new tongues; they will take up serpents; and if they drink anything deadly, it will by no means hurt them; they will lay hands on the sick, and they will recover.”

The general argument against speaking in tongues usually begins by saying that the word “tongues” in the Bible means languages. It most certainly does. In this passage it may mean languages; it may mean a private prayer language. But this passage doesn’t support the claim that they were only for the apostles. Jesus in this passage makes a connection between preaching the gospel, seeing people baptized, and seeing them perform miracles. “He who believes and is baptized will be saved; but he who does not believe will be condemned. And these signs will follow those who believe….” The cessationists will argue that tongues have passed away; if they have, then why do they still baptize? Has that passed away also? Most certainly not. Yet the order here is “believes- baptized- signs.” "These signs will follow those who believe.” It isn’t saying that the signs are only for the apostles, only for the preaching of the gospel. The signs come after the gospel has been preached. They follow the belief.

ACTS 2:1-8
When the Day of Pentecost had fully come, they were all with one accord in one place. And suddenly there came a sound from heaven, as of a rushing mighty wind, and it filled the whole house where they were sitting. Then there appeared to them divided tongues, as of fire, and one sat upon each of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance. And there were dwelling in Jerusalem Jews, devout men, from every nation under heaven. And when this sound occurred, the multitude came together, and were confused, because everyone heard them speak in his own language. Then they were all amazed and marveled, saying to one another, “Look, are not all these who speak Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each in our own language in which we were born?

This is a definite case of people speaking in actual languages. Some have suggested that the miracle here was that the crowd heard the apostles in their own language; I would differ. The passage says that they (meaning the apostles and their posse) spoke in other tongues. But that’s neither hear nor there. These people were from many nations, yet they all understood the preaching. Mark one up for the cessationists here.

ACTS 8:14-19
Now when the apostles who were at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had received the word of God, they sent Peter and John to them, who, when they had come down, prayed for them that they might receive the Holy Spirit. For as yet He had fallen upon none of them. They had only been baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus. Then they laid hands on them, and they received the Holy Spirit.
And when Simon saw that through the laying on of the apostles’ hands the Holy Spirit was given, he offered them money, saying, “Give me this power also, that anyone on whom I lay hands may receive the Holy Spirit.”

This passage doesn’t specifically mention tongues, but let’s look at it a minute. Samaria had received the word of God and they were baptized. There wasn’t a need for a miracle to further the preaching of the gospel; it had already been preached. And Simon had already been following Phillip and conversed with the apostles; he didn’t need the use of another language to understand. So how did Simon know that the Holy Spirit had fallen? Was there some tangible sign that He had? Based upon all the passages in the book of Acts where the Holy Spirit fell, I believe that the sign was speaking in tongues that were unknown to all present.

ACTS 10
The entirety of Acts 10 is devoted to the story of Cornelius, a centurion in an Italian regiment. He saw an angel who said that Simon Peter was coming. At the same time Peter saw a vision concerning animals that Jewish people considered unclean. A voice said “Rise, Peter; kill and eat” three times, and when Peter refused the voice said “What God has cleansed do not call common.” The message here is that Peter needed to preach to the Gentiles and not avoid them.

vv. 24-28And the following day they entered Caesarea. Now Cornelius was waiting for them, and had called together his relatives and close friends. As Peter was coming in, Cornelius met him and fell down at his feet and worshiped him. But Peter lifted him up, saying, “Stand up; I myself am also a man.” And as he talked with him, he went in and found many who had come together. Then he said to them, “You know how unlawful it is for a Jewish man to keep company with or go to one of another nation. But God has shown me that I should not call any man common or unclean.”

Notice that Peter conversed with “them”, meaning that Cornelius wasn’t the only one that spoke Peter’s language. There wasn’t a need for a language miracle to preach the Gospel, as we see in vv. 34-35:

Then Peter opened his mouth and said: “In truth I perceive that God shows no partiality. But in every nation whoever fears Him and works righteousness is accepted by Him.”

And vv. 36-43 are the rest of Peter’s sermon.

vv. 44-46While Peter was still speaking these words, the Holy Spirit fell upon all those who heard the word. And those of the circumcision who believed were astonished, as many as came with Peter, because the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out on the Gentiles also. For they heard them speak with tongues and magnify God.

How did “those of the circumcision” know that the Holy Spirit had fallen upon the Gentiles? “They heard them speak with tongues and magnify God.” Remember, they all spoke the same language. I propose that the only way they knew the Holy Spirit had fallen on the Gentiles was that they were speaking in languages unknown to both the speaker and the hearer. Why? You’ll have to take it up with God.

1 Corinthians 12:4-11
There are diversities of gifts, but the same Spirit. There are differences of ministries, but the same Lord. And there are diversities of activities, but it is the same God who works all in all. But the manifestation of the Spirit is given to each one for the profit of all: for to one is given the word of wisdom through the Spirit, to another the word of knowledge through the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healings by the same Spirit, to another the working of miracles, to another prophecy, to another discerning of spirits, to another different kinds of tongues, to another the interpretation of tongues. But one and the same Spirit works all these things, distributing to each one individually as He wills.

1 Corinthians 12-14 give us an in-depth look at spiritual gifts, the good and the bad. Paul had just finished rebuking the Corinthians for turning the Lord's Table celebration into a drunken party. He then starts chapter 12 by saying "Now concerning spiritual gifts, brethren, I do not want you to be ignorant." There are some things that need to be set straight. First, there is a diversity of gifts but one Spirit who distributes them to each one as He wills. Not everyone will have everything. the rest of the chapter is a development of that idea. "Do all have gifts of healings? Do all speak with tongues? Do all interpret? But earnestly desire the best gifts. And yet I show you a more excellent way." (1 Cor. 12:30-31) Now wait a minute, Paul. We aren't supposed to pursue the gifts, but the Giver. We need to seek His face, not His hand. At least that's what the latest revival websites tell me. Not everybody is going to have everything, but we are encouraged to desire the gifts nonetheless. Both times that tongues are mentioned here interpretation is right afterwards.

Paul tells us to earnestly desire the best gifts, and in 1 Corinthians 13 he tells us about the greatest gift- that of love. You've heard it at every wedding you've ever been to. Chapter 13 continues the theme of doing things in order to benefit one another.

1 Corinthians 13:8-12
Love never fails. But whether there are prophecies, they will fail; whether there are tongues, they will cease; whether there is knowledge, it will vanish away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect has come, then that which is in part will be done away. When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known."

Ah ha!" the cessationist will declare. "Where there are tongues, they will pass away, when the perfect has come. We now have the perfect, the Bible, the Word of God." In the words of the ancient prophets, "Context, people, context!" In verse 9 Paul says "For now we know in part and we prophesy in part." In verse 12 he mentions knowing in part again. "For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known." He is contrasting. Before and after. Now we see dimly- then we'll see face to face. Now I know in part- then I shall know just as I am known. Has anyone here seen Jesus face to face? Sit down, Benny Hinn. The perfect isn't the Bible, it is the second coming of Christ. This chapter can't be used to "prove" the cessation of tongues.

1 Corinthians 14: 1-5
Pursue love, and desire spiritual gifts, but especially that you may prophesy. For he who speaks in a tongue does not speak to men but to God, for no one understands him; however, in the spirit he speaks mysteries. But he who prophesies speaks edification and exhortation and comfort to men. He who speaks in a tongue edifies himself, but he who prophesies edifies the church. I wish you all spoke with tongues, but even more that you prophesied; for he who prophesies is greater than he who speaks with tongues, unless indeed he interprets, that the church may receive edification. (emphasis mine)

Paul is not downplaying the gift of tongues two chapters after he just said that God gives the gift to people as He wills. I emphasized two portions to make a point. He is talking about gatherings of the church here. The person who speaks in tongues speaks not to men but to God. Huh? Wait a minute. If the gift of tongues is merely for the establishing of the church, and it means a definite known language in every instance, then why is Paul telling us that the tongues-speaker is talking to God? Doesn't God understand every language? Does God need the gospel preached to Him? Because that's why the gift of tongues was given, according to the anti-charismatic. No, Paul is saying that in the church we need to speak words of exhortation to each other. Tongues mean nothing if no one interprets.

Let's go on.

1 Corinthians 14:9-11
So likewise you, unless you utter by the tongue words easy to understand, how will it be known what is spoken? For you will be speaking into the air. There are, it may be, so many kinds of languages in the world, and none of them is without significance. Therefore, if I do not know the meaning of the language, I shall be a foreigner to him who speaks, and he who speaks will be a foreigner to me.

Why would Paul say that unless I know the meaning of the language I shall be a foreigner to him and he shall be a foreigner to me? The whole point of the gift, according to those who rail against the gift today, is that the speaker will be understood by the hearer. Just like the 2nd chapter of Acts. Unless... there are two types of the gift of tongues that are being spoken of in these passages- one unknown that is being spoken to God, and one along the lines of the beginning of the church, where people spoke in tongues to further the gospel.

1 Corinthians 14:13-19
Therefore let him who speaks in a tongue pray that he may interpret. For if I pray in a tongue, my spirit prays, but my understanding is unfruitful. What is the conclusion then? I will pray with the spirit, and I will also pray with the understanding. I will sing with the spirit, and I will also sing with the understanding. Otherwise, if you bless with the spirit, how will he who occupies the place of the uninformed say "Amen" at your giving of thanks, since he does not understand what you say? For you indeed give thanks well, but the other is not edified. I thank my God I speak with tongues more than you all; yet in the church I would rather speak five words with my understanding, that I may teach others also, than ten thousand words in a tongue. (emphasis mine)

Paul isn't teaching either/or, he teaching both/and, with the caveat that if you are in the church you had better be understood. Paul said that he speaks in tongues more than all of the Corinthians believers he was writing to, but in the church he would rather speak words he understands. So if he is speaking words of understanding in the church, where is he speaking in tongues? He uses the phrase "pray in a tongue." If the gift of tongues was a special miracle for the preaching of the gospel in known languages, why would people be praying in tongues. And yet here is Paul telling the Corinthians to pray in the spirit and pray with the understanding.

So let's mop up here. I think I've made a good case that the Bible talks about two different types of tongues- prayer tongues and Book-of-Acts preaching tongues. Yet even the person who is following me up to this point might say "Sure, they had tongues back then, but they passed away with the last apostle." Really? How do you draw that conclusion? Because the Scripture was completed then and the "perfect" had come? I shot that down earlier in the essay. Because they radically faded off in importance as church history progressed? Things have faded and regained prominence in church history that people don't say need to be buried. How many people had Bibles and read them for 1500 years of church history? Tongues may have been slim to none and slim has left town, but that doesn't mean that they have passed away. That's letting experience dictate your interpretation of the Scripture. Hmm... where have I heard that argument before? From the cessationist's very own lips. They will say that the charismatic/Pentecostal believer is interpreting Scripture by their own experience when that person prays in tongues and says it's God; but aren't they doing the very same thing when they see someone obviously faking tongues and they say none of it is from God?

Listen. I have been around the block and seen some wacky things. Just read the archives to find out more. I know that there are people out there who are not praying in tongues but trying to ascend the ladder of prominence in their church. But even if there isn't one genuine instance of speaking in tongues to be found in the world today, that doesn't mean that the gift has passed away. Now your theological system may say that they have; but Scripture says no such thing.

At the same time, if someone isn't interested in speaking in tongues, that's cool. They just have another gift is all. So Phil Johnson, John MacArthur, Dallas Theological Seminary- lighten up. I like your writings, you obviously are intelligent and well-educated, but in this area you need to relax.

Who are you/ What have you sacrificed?

2007-11-12T19:13:00.000-05:00

Continuing in our series of flashbacks, here is one originally published on Friday, December 02, 2005

Who are you/ What have you sacrificed?

Every time I look at you I don't understand
Why you let the things you did get so out of hand?
---“Superstar”, from the musical Jesus Christ Superstar

Do you think Jesus knew what he was starting? When he told Simon Peter that he was going to build his church, did he have his fingers crossed behind his back, saying to himself “oh God, please don’t let him screw it up?”? When Pat Robertson opens his mouth does Jesus sit up in heaven and think “oh crap, he’s at it again”?

Of course he knew what would happen. He’s God, right? When God created Adam and Eve he obviously knew that they would eat the fruit, otherwise he wouldn’t be God. So when Jesus made his final instructions to his disciples, telling them to preach the gospel, start Christian rock bands and sing “Kumbayah” a lot, he knew that some of those future disciples would be real a**holes. Unless he wasn’t God while on this earth, and I’m not even going down that road.

Christ you know I love you
Did you see I waved?
---“Simon Zealotes”, Jesus Christ Superstar

So let’s imagine Jesus walking through the sands of time. The church starts, everything is cool, the Romans hate their guts but the believers give a collective middle finger to the Romans and meet anyway. The Romans throw them to lions and find many other ways to separate the believers from their lives, but it doesn’t matter. They have a fresh vision of Jesus. Jesus is all that matters to them. Some of them even saw the man face to face.

Then when we retire, we can write the Gospels
So they'll still talk about us when we've died.
---“The Last Supper”, Jesus Christ Superstar

Gospels are floating around now. Everybody and their brother put pen to paper and churn out Gospels like network TV churns out reality shows. And even if someone didn’t know Jesus personally, they probably knew a friend of a friend who shared the Passover meal with an apostle’s cousin, and if they say Jesus would have done something this way, he probably would have.

And so it began.

When Jesus went into the region of Caesarea Philippi he asked his disciples, "Who do people say that the Son of Man is?" They replied, "Some say John the Baptist, others Elijah, still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.”

He said to them, "But who do you say that I am?"
---Matthew 16:13-15“

And the people said, ‘Let us make Jesus in our own image, after our own likeness.’” Over the course of time people began to develop interpretations of who Jesus was based on what they wanted him to be. Jesus automatically approved of everything the Church did, because after all, he started the thing. The apostles ordained successors, and so on and so on, and Jesus smiled on the whole chain.

Pretty soon Martin Luther said “you know, screw this” and broke off, starting a revolution that revolved around the belief that Jesus wouldn’t make us do works, it’s all about grace. Jesus wouldn’t approve of this hierarchy stuff…Jesus would want us to read the Bible for ourselves…Jesus wouldn’t baptize infants- what do they know, anyway? And branches continued to fall from the tree.

Look at the artwork. Jesus Christ became a white man from the Middle Ages instead of the man of Middle Eastern descent that he actually was. In the 1700’s and 1800’s Jesus had no problems with people owning slaves because, well, that’s what the people wanted so they projected it onto Jesus. Marcus Garvey said that Jesus was a black man, because he wanted him to be one. To the emerging women’s movement Jesus was the first feminist. After all, Mary Magdalene was the first to see him after his resurrection, so to hell with all the tired old white guys running the show- Jesus obviously favored bra burning and reproductive freedom. To the hippies Jesus was the first hippie rebel. He stood up to the man, man! He fought the power! He had long hair and a lot of crazy ideas about love and freedom.

“Not so fast,” the fundamentalist movement intoned. Jesus didn’t have long hair- long hair was a shame to a man. To them Jesus was a short haired Bible thumper- just like them. Jack Hyles even wrote a book entitled “Jesus Had Short Hair.” Jesus was the original fightin’, feudin’ fundamentalist who spoke in King James English. 1611, straight from heaven baby!

Along about 1976 Jesus Christ took the form of a peanut farmer from Georgia. Oops, my bad- that was Jimmy Carter. Same initials, though. A born-again in the White House- who woulda thunk it? But he was a Democrat, so he was destined to disappoint the crowd who was quickly seeing Jesus as the first Republican. When the 1980 elections rolled around old J.C. found himself thrown out on his peanut shells. The world had a new savior- old Ronald Wilson Reagan himself, the great white hope.

In 1987 and 1988, when Bakker and Swaggart took a dive, it was no longer cool to say “Jesus Is Lord.” Smacked too much of pushy televangelists and an image Christians were trying to get away from. Jesus was your buddy, your friend. He’s not going to push anything on you, man! He just wants to share a Budweiser and some smokes with you, maybe shoot a round of pool or go club-hopping. He was straight-edge before Fugazi took their first breath. Jesus was a vegan- he wouldn’t have eaten poor, defenseless animals! Lamb of God? Oh , umm, well….

How about the pro-life crowd? “Jesus loves the little children…” they intoned while chaining themselves to abortion mills. Some of them got the idea that it might be kind of cool to kill a few doctors- after all, Jesus did say “the kingdom of heaven suffers violence and the violent take it by force.” Most of that same pro-life crowd are now pleased that we’re killing a lot of Iraqis for Christ. After all, George Bush is a man of God, and Jesus told him to invade Iraq.

A few months ago a fellow blogger challenged me to say who I believed Jesus is. I had every intention of making that an essay, too, but then I realized that it would be pointless. Nobody really cares who Jesus was. They only care about the carefully crafted image they’ve made of Jesus. They have a Jesus that they’re comfortable with, and everyone else is wrong.

You want a statement of belief from me? OK. Jesus is Lord. The implications of that statement are still being determined.

Objects in mirror are closer than they appear

2007-11-11T09:44:00.000-05:00

First published on Friday, October 20, 2006

Objects in mirror are closer than they appear

I had an interesting experience at the grocery store the other day. I am the type of person who looks like he is always in a hurry. When I'm eating, I'm eating fast. When I walk, I'm walking fast, even if I'm not really headed anywhere. So when people are at the store taking a survey, or taking up a collection, I walk right on by. I have learned that if you don't meet their eye, more often than not they will leave you alone.

But there is always an exception to the rule.

I am one of the least patriotic people you are going to meet. I am against the Iraq war, and seeing military recruiters at the vocational high school where I teach really bothers me. I didn't fly a flag on Sept. 10, 2001, and I didn't suddenly "find religion" the next day. I felt like it would be hypocritical of me to start flying one just because everyone else was, even though I had no feelings for it. You won't see a yellow ribbon magnet on my car, I won't be sporting a "We support our troops" bumper sticker... I just feel like it's too easy to say "We support the troops", but people don't often support the troops in some practical way.

A gentleman had a table set up outside Giant Eagle and he was taking donations for the Lorain County Vietnam Veterans War Memorial. I decided to talk to the guy, and after a few minutes of conversation I put a $5 bill in his jar. He thanked me and asked if I would like one of the assortment of flags or bumper stickers he had on the table. I declined. I explained to him that I didn't want to show off patriotism (I didn't explain that I didn't have any). I said that I was glad that he made it back alive, and I could see a wistful look in his eyes as he stared away, just for a second, and then thanked me. My groceries and I proceeded on the journey home, with the little paper flower I bought from a World War II veteran several months ago still wrapped around my rear view mirror.

A guy I know only via his online business, Bill Staffa, is retired military. On his Delphi forum a few months ago, in the midst of a right/left debate on Memorial Day, he made this observation:

The guys we remember on memorial day don't give a flying f*** about the NEA, or any other issue. They did what they believed to be their duty.

Memorial Day is not about protests, riots, political agendas, or anything else.

When you die, it all becomes rather moot, doesn't it?

And that's it. The guy standing outside Giant Eagle that day wasn't conservative, he wasn't liberal, he wasn't from a red state or a blue state- he was a guy who most likely watched a lot of his buddies die. The elderly man who sold me the paper flower, who had to point to the enclosed explanation because he couldn't talk, who is probably close to death and wondering why Johnny bought it on the muddy battlelines in Europe and he survived- he isn't an ideology, he's a man.

Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.

______________________________

And who was wrong?
And who was right?
It didnt matter in the thick of the fight
Billy Joel, "Goodnight Saigon"

Reunited

2007-10-02T10:51:00.001-04:00

I got an e-mail today from a friend in Michigan. She was reunited with an old friend of hers that she spent time with in France in 1984, and it was because I mentioned her in this blog and the friend e-mailed me to inquire. See- the stuff I write does a public service after all :)

And speaking of reunions… I got an e-mail myself from a woman I knew when I was a freshman in 1981 in Michigan, whom I haven't talked with in 26 years. Unfortunately, my responses to her keep getting bounced back. So Sherilyn Rohde, if you should happen to read this, please contact me again- I am interested in talking with you further.

Calling you out

2007-09-30T04:55:00.001-04:00

From the blog of Randy Bohlender, intercessionary missionary in Kansas City, concerning the movie Mr. Holland's Opus:

"This feel good hit was actually a terribly sad movie for reasons that I will discuss in class. If you really liked it, you need your head examined. I feel that strongly about it and can critique it better than you can defend it."

And yet everytime I leave a comment on his blog asking him to defend himself he deletes it. He must have a special folder where my comments are sent to die, because not one of my comments ever makes it through. He only prints comments from his "peeps", which makes me wonder what the point of a comment section even is. Why not just make it a private blog then, Randy, if you only care what your friends think?

So step away from the Mac and the coffee and critique the movie already, Randy. Quit being a wuss and stand by your words.

Write Mr. Bohlender here and ask him what he means about needing your head examined. Just don't expect a response unless you too are obsessed with trying to be interminably hip and cool.

Guilty By Association- the response

2007-08-28T12:54:00.000-04:00

Carla Rolfe left a well-written explanation as to why she thinks contemplative prayer is unbiblical here. I should add that I appreciate the fact that when she disagreed with me she didn't ramble on with name-calling but just stuck to the issues. I wish more bloggers were like that.

Guilty by association

2007-08-24T22:07:00.000-04:00

I remember the first time I saw Steve Camp in concert. It was in 1984, and was actually the first Christian concert I ever went to. This was back in the day when Christian music dared play high school gyms, and was concerned about imparting something in addition to entertaining. But I digress. I have always had a soft spot in my heart for Steve Camp ever since. But I have to admit, he has definitely changed in the past 20 years... along with the rest of the church for that matter. But I digress again. I read this article on his blog, which was actually written by someone else, Carla Rolfe. She was one of the few who saw some good in my post about Hurricane Katrina a few years ago. I won't print the whole article. Here is the link.

CAMPONTHIS: "Contemplate" This:
...the mantra of the new age is now considered Christian?

Read this article. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Through? OK, allow me to quote:

"Contemplative/centering/breath prayers, mantras, labyrinths, mood altering-worship enhancing music or visuals or scents, etc. does not represent biblical Christianity."

Where in this article does she prove that these methods aren't biblical? She tells us how bad they are, she tells us how good Sola Scriptura is, but nowhere does she connect the two and prove from Scripture that contemplative prayer is not Biblical. Just because Thomas Merton studied Buddhism and practiced contemplative prayer doesn't mean that contemplative prayer in and of itself isn't Biblical. I've seen Bibles on sale in a Buddhist bookstore before. That doesn't mean the Bible is guilty by association.

"Question: let's back up the truck there: how can one endorse eastern mystic religious practices and defend Sola Scriptura at the same time?

Answer: YOU CAN'T."

Well, umm, Carla, PROVE IT. You did a great job of standing up for Sola Scriptura. You, or anyone else reading this post, shouldn't have any issues with showing me that contemplative prayer isn't scriptural. But all I read in that post is a lot of bluster and no bite. Which is why most blogs aren't worth crap, by the way, and why most bloggers, although they fancy themselves as the "new generation" of journalists and theologians, are nothing of the kind.

I'm not here to convince people that contemplative prayer is the bee's knees. I personally have no issues with it, but I'm not the one who has the burden of proof here, Carla is. And she hasn't met it. Carla is an intelligent blogger. I've read her stuff before. Don't sell me the sizzle, Carla; serve me the steak.

STOP! MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS!

2007-08-22T15:29:00.001-04:00

My personal pet peeve these days is that phrase. Umm, people? If the TV show has aired, spoiler warnings do not apply. If you are that worried about finding out what happens then don't put yourself in a situation where you might find out what happens. The rest of the world can't be beholden to your schedule. Same with books. If you don't want to know what happens, then don't go to the message boards or blogs that may be discussing it.

Movies are a slightly different story. If a movie has just been released there is a certain statute of limitations for discussing the ending. But if you haven't seen the Crying Game or the Sixth Sense yet, I have news for you- the chick is a guy and the kid sees dead people.

Oh, I'm sorry. Did I spoil it for you? Too bad.

Afternoon Lee-ite

2007-08-21T18:35:00.000-04:00

(Sorry, sometimes I just can’t resist the puns.)

I haven’t blogged much in the past few months because, quite frankly, I haven’t had much to say. I posted some political stuff but then decided that it wasn’t really where I wanted to go. I don’t care much for the blogs that post every day just for the sake of having something in print every day. So… I just took a break.

I still had people finding the blog, usually through a Google search. Looking for Titus Chu? You were bound to run across The Pardoner’s Tale. David Hyles catch your fancy? Same thing. Plenty of views but no comments. Until this morning, when I got an interesting comment on my post “The Joy Of Sects” by a guy running a blog titled Liite Buddhism. That’s Lee-ite, for those of you who can’t read all of those I’s. He took offense at what I had to say; this is what he posted:

I spent twelve long years in the LSM cult, and I would like to say politely that you shouldn't talk about things you know nothing about.The problem with the Local Church group -- properly called "Liites" (the followers of Chang-Shou Li) -- is not that they have novel doctrines, but far worse. The problem is twofold.

(1) Their central doctrine is a version of the dharma wheel of Buddhism, which they call "mingling." To them, God wants to terminate man's soul and replace it with himself. The believer, thus annihilated of the self, the "I," is then reabsorbed into God, ie. nirvana. None of this is remotely Christian. Indeed, since this involves the destruction of the soul, rather than its salvation in the Christian sense, this is anti-Christian.

(2) So keeping in line with the central anti-soul doctrine, Liite doctrine and ritual center around man being wholly evil. That is, your nature and everything about you is evil and must be suppressed. Your needs and opinions are "fallen" and must be annihilated. As one can imagine, this can produce psychological duress together with the high-stress activity of five long meetings a week and two ten-day training camps a year.

The Local Church is aware of the resultant mental breakdowns; they normally lead to intervention by the victim's family from outside the organization and departure from the group. The Local Church then describes the breakdowns in reverse: as what happens when a member leaves. This is callous to say the least, but the intent seems to be to scare members away from leaving.

I fear that you may have already made up your mind from innocence. But I hate to see someone to take a position on a group that causes people so much mental harm. People DO matter.

You’re right, my friend, people DO matter. You matter, I matter, even the Liites matter (and for the record, please drop the incessant use of Li as Witness Lee’s surname; it is much easier on the eyes). Regardless of how I feel about the current regime in Living Stream Ministry, I feel like they deserved to be treated fairly, which is why I try to be objective even though I am not currently a member.

“I spent twelve long years in the LSM cult, and I would like to say politely that you shouldn't talk about things you know nothing about.” Well my friend, I have spent 22 years in fellowship with brothers from the churches in Elyria, Lorain and Cleveland, so I think I do know something about what I am talking about.

“The problem with the Local Church group -- properly called "Liites" (the followers of Chang-Shou Li) -- is not that they have novel doctrines, but far worse. The problem is twofold.” We will get to the twofold in a minute. Since the founder’s name is Witness Lee, the followers would properly be called “Lee-ites”, if you insisted on referring to them in that way. I prefer the term “brothers” or simply “Christians”. But that’s just me.

(1) Their central doctrine is a version of the dharma wheel of Buddhism, which they call "mingling." To them, God wants to terminate man's soul and replace it with himself. The believer, thus annihilated of the self, the "I," is then reabsorbed into God, ie. nirvana. None of this is remotely Christian. Indeed, since this involves the destruction of the soul, rather than its salvation in the Christian sense, this is anti-Christian.

Brother, you must not have been paying close attention to all of those conferences and trainings you attended, because if you did you would know that “mingling” is not about terminating man’s soul but, umm, mingling man’s soul with the Holy Spirit. Surely you must have heard the term “mingled spirit.” What did you think that it meant?

This is the Triune God dispensing Himself into the tripartite man. Man is of
three parts the human spirit, the human soul, and the human body. As believers
our spirit has been regenerated, and our soul with its leading part, the mind,
is now under renewing which is our transformation. The day will come when our
body will be transfigured, conformed to the body of His glory. This will be the
redemption of our body. Our regeneration has already been accomplished, our
transformation is an ongoing process, and our transfiguration, the redemption of
our body, will be accomplished at Christ’s coming back. This all-inclusive One
as the consummation of the Triune God is working the Triune God into our three
parts into our spirit, into our soul, and into our body. This is the Triune God
working Himself into the tripartite man by His divine dispensing. (Witness Lee,
God’s New Testament Economy, 134-135)

It isn’t about termination, but transformation.

(2) So keeping in line with the central anti-soul doctrine, Liite doctrine and ritual center around man being wholly evil. That is, your nature and everything about you is evil and must be suppressed. Your needs and opinions are "fallen" and must be annihilated. As one can imagine, this can produce psychological duress together with the high-stress activity of five long meetings a week and two ten-day training camps a year.

Seeing as how the central doctrine isn’t anti-soul but renewed, regenerated, transformed soul, there isn’t much more I can do with this sentence. I don’t doubt that some Local Church leaders, perhaps the ones this particular person was in contact with, were harsh towards those who expressed opinions that they felt needed to be annihilated. I would suggest that the problem is not only with the leaders, but with the followers who let that kind of crap continue.

Five long meetings a week and two ten-day training camps a year. Yeah, I will agree that five meetings a week can be a bit much. Some people derive a lot of enjoyment out of meeting that often. More power to them. Others would rather meet less. Let each person be convinced in his own mind.

As far as the trainings go, I used to love the trainings. Then again, I never went to every meeting of the ten days.

The Local Church is aware of the resultant mental breakdowns; they normally lead to intervention by the victim's family from outside the organization and departure from the group. The Local Church then describes the breakdowns in reverse: as what happens when a member leaves. This is callous to say the least, but the intent seems to be to scare members away from leaving.

And there is no way to deal with that sentence either. Is the Local Church aware of breakdowns? There is no way to prove or disprove that claim without someone’s testimony, something you won’t find on the author’s blog. His testimony is there- true. I would be more comfortable dealing with his claims is there was some more meat. And this is why I can’t take his claims of the “Liites” being a dangerous cult seriously. He provides no quotes from Witness Lee materials, or other sources. Just his word. If he says Witness Lee is dangerous, it must be true. He throws around loaded phrases like “dangerous cult” and “Liite Buddhism” without any kind of documentation.

Let’s look at a post of his entitled “History”. He claims that it is proven that Witness Lee was not an associate of Watchman Nee, but he provides no quotes, no documentation of this. Meanwhile, a popular biography of Watchman Nee, Against The Tide, makes the claim:

At the Shantung Resort of Chefoo he met also for the first time Witness Lee. A
native of that city, Lee came of Buddhist parents and had been converted in 1925
at the age of 20. Since 1927 he had received Watchman’s magazine and was himself
developing fast a gift of preaching and Bible exposition. Future circumstances
were to bring the two men very close together at a critical period. (pg 144)

Sure sounds like they knew each other, from a source that isn’t even in cahoots with Living Stream Ministry.

Here is an interesting, and upon first glance, damning statement from the History post:

By 1961, Lee was left with only a single Vineyard Fellowship in Los Angeles, California, who were willing to allow Lee to continue speaking among them. Lee continued to live off the charity of its members. By 1962, Lee attempted a take over of the host Vineyard Fellowship in Los Angeles, just as he had done in Taiwan.

One problem with that, brother. The Vineyard Christian Fellowship didn’t even exist until the early seventies.

A house on several acres on prime urban real estate on Ball Road in Anaheim California was built and donated to Lee, valued at 4 million dollars at the time, where he lived with his fourth wife.
You’re going to have to do better than that. I can only find statements to the effect that he was married twice, and that’s because his first wife had died.

I’m sorry, I can't deal with this blogger anymore. Don’t write me and tell me that I don’t know what I’m talking about when you can’t prove anything you are charging on your own blog.

Visions of Johanna

2007-08-15T22:15:00.001-04:00

Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it
And Louise holds a handful of rain, temptin' you to defy it
Lights flicker from the opposite loft
In this room the heat pipes just cough
The country music station plays soft
But there's nothing, really nothing to turn off
Just Louise and her lover so entwined
And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind

In the empty lot where the ladies play blindman's bluff with the key chain
And the all-night girls they whisper of escapades out on the "D" train
We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight
Ask himself if it's him or them that's really insane
Louise, she's all right, she's just near
She's delicate and seems like the mirror
But she just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Johanna's not here
The ghost of 'lectricity howls in the bones of her face
Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place

Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously
He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a farewell kiss to me
He's sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the wall while I'm in the hall
How can I explain?
Oh, it's so hard to get on
And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn

Inside the museums, Infinity goes up on trial
Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while
But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles
See the primitive wallflower freeze
When the jelly-faced women all sneeze
Hear the one with the mustache say, "Jeeze
I can't find my knees"
Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule
But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel

The peddler now speaks to the countess who's pretending to care for him
Sayin', "Name me someone that's not a parasite and I'll go out and say a prayer for him"
But like Louise always says
"Ya can't look at much, can ya man?"
As she, herself, prepares for him
And Madonna, she still has not showed
We see this empty cage now corrode
Where her cape of the stage once had flowed
The fiddler, he now steps to the road
He writes ev'rything's been returned which was owed
On the back of the fish truck that loads
While my conscience explodes
The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain
And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain

---Bob Dylan, "Visions of Johanna"

Just in a melancholy mood tonight.

Out of Sync

2007-06-18T08:28:00.001-04:00

My buddy wrote this about 8 years ago. I have kept it in my e-mail saved file ever since. It's a little dated; you could probably replace references to Promise Keepers with references to Wild at Heart and it would all read the same. But I kept it as written.

_____________________________________________

The Ryrie Study Bible

The past month has been somewhat perplexing. Some how I have stepped out of cadence with the rest of the Christian World. I do not think that it is a matter of right and wrong, but more a matter of in and out of sync, and I believe that I am out of sync.

I once heard this fantastic idea that when all the planets align in our Solar System, havoc would reign upon the world. The magnetic pull of all the planets would cause volcanos to erupt, tsunamis to swell and pummel ocean cities and a variety of Biblical disasters to engulf our cozy little world. The only problem is none of that happened. The "Great Alignment" came and went. But maybe something did happen? Maybe the invisible magnetic pull altered our ability to interact with one another in a family-type setting? It was at about the time that the Great Alignment occurred that the book Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus came out. Could the author have clued into the relational common denominator of people and planets? Maybe the Great Alignment was not a physical one of planets, but of entities aligning, causing the distortion of family values, society roles and personal identity. Hey this may sound far-fetched, but there is nothing that surprises me anymore.

Yesterday I was eating a most nutritious meal with my wife at Wendy's. We were discussion how opportunities to develop meaningful relationships just don't seem to be as available as they once were. At least for me. For Cathy, on the contrary, has developed more relationships than was normal for her in the past. I guess that Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus hogwash has really influenced men. Those of us who don't fit the Macho do-it-yourselfer image seem to have become non-existent. After all, the book says we are insensitive, competitive, we are all warriors looking for a fight. Whereas women are understanding, compassionate and willing to listen to us brutes. So I think that book gave us the OK, it is time to grab the remote and dig into a bag of greasy chips. There is no need to develop relationships that might encourage vulnerability, sensitivity or even compassion. After all, we will only confuse those who take stock in that book. And this will cause arguments if we try sensitivity, hence it is a losing battle. We are deemed to be brutes, little boys with no ability to see beyond play-time.

So what happens to me while we are sitting in Wendy's? A group of four men come walking in, and in one of their hands I see it. A book, a brown book with gold lettering. Could it be? Why Yes it Was! It was a Ryrie Study Bible! This is the official Bible of the Hard Core Study Group. I couldn't believe my eyes. I looked again, maybe it was just my hopes and dreams that caused me to believe this was a Ryrie. Maybe it was the "MAFM Special Study Bible" (Men Are From Mars) with notes from Dan Reeves and John Elway, but no I could not mistake it twice, It WAS a Ryrie.

I told Cathy that this was a sign. I needed to follow the call and introduce myself to the group. I waited until one of them was separated from the herd, and then I went in for the Kill (Sorry, it is just the warrior in me that makes me speak this way.) "I see that you guys are having a study, What are you studying?" "Oh just this book." He seemed a little embarrassed. "Promise Keepers" I said, spying the little PK symbol on the book. "That's right" he said "We are just a group of guys that are all runners. So we meet in a group together." I was looking for some kind of opening, an invitation perhaps, something beyond the surface, and yet I wanted the invitation to come from him. After all, who really likes a party crasher. So I thought I would mention the Church I go too, possible this would initiate a "Oh I go to 'Blah Blah'", then I would be able to invoke an invitation. No such luck, they all go to separate Churches and their only connection is running. He probably took one look at the spare tire I am growing and decided that I am a non-runner. Little does he know, I still have the original hardback edition of Jim Fixx's Book of Complete Running. Needless to say, our conversation never got that deep. We exchanged first names and then I retreated back into my seat.

Question: If a complete stranger came up to you (assuming you are part of the Bible Study Group) and initiated a conversation about God, don't you think that you would be inclined to inquire of the stranger if he would like to know more about your group, or other groups of this type? I would see it as a sign that the person is trying to overcome some hurdle and sees this group as some type of answer. Or at least a sign that points the way to some answer. But then again, my way of thinking is out dated, it is pre-Alignment. It reeks of sensitivity and all the gooey substance of a non-brutish male. According to the PK philosophy of life, I should embrace my masculinity, let my testosterone be my guide and stop confusing the enlightened.

This fall I think I will take a weekend trip to the woods near Estes to watch the Elks Bugle. Maybe I could learn something from them. Until then I guess I will have to settle for being Out of Sync.

Hmmm….Interesting

2007-06-04T12:09:00.001-04:00

A quote from the May 15, 2007 issue of Christian Century magazine discussing the "consistent ethic of life" teaching of the Catholic Church:

Rosemary Radford Ruether questions whether the "consistent ethic of life" of Catholic moral theory is as consistent as it claims. Current Catholic moral teaching applies an absolutist ethic to abortion, no exceptions allowed, whereas it applies a consequentialist ethic to war that allows for exceptions, makes calculations based on competing interests and ultimately leaves the matter to the conscience of the individual. "Where is the bishop who would say that soldiers who directly massacre noncombatant civilians are excommunicated? Where are the bishops who would suggest that those who manufacture nuclear weapons are excommunicated? Where are the bishops who would suggest that those who manufacture nuclear weapons are excommunicated and should repent by leaving such forms of employment?" she asks. "In short, Catholicism speaks softly and carries no stick when it comes to untimely and unjust death after birth" (Conscience, Spring).

And to her statement I would say, "Don't stop at the Catholic church." Conservative evangelical Protestants have the same issue, where they want to make abortion the sole test as to whether a political candidate is pro-life. Against abortion, which kills a baby? OK. Against the Iraq war, which also kills innocent people? B-a-a-d. Those who parade around in front of the Capitol building or the Supreme Court with orange tape on their mouths are making a courageous, prophetic statement; those who parade around in front of the same buildings protesting the loss of another Iraqi life…and another…and another… well, those people have been taken by the Michael Moore-loving, anti-American radical left.

Yeah, sure.

From the website of Lou Engle, a man who sees prophetic pronouncements in the change he gets at the grocery store:

We are in a Crisis

The Church and the nation are in a crisis! In no uncertain terms, the elections of 2006 showed us that there is no clear moral foundation upon which the nation votes. In this present historic moment, the Church was paralyzed. Tens-of-thousands stayed home and could not vote as if they were drunk with disillusionment.

Only one week before the elections, a major Christian leader was exposed in immorality. Before that, a high-ranking Republican Representative was exposed. After considering these scandals, the ongoing exposures of these Christian leaders, and seeing the outcome of the elections, I felt God shouting that the Church is in danger of losing its moral authority to turn a nation.

"Who shall ascend the hill of the Lord...he who has clean hands and a pure heart," Psalm 24:3-4. The hill of Lord is the place of the throne, and the place of spiritual authority. Only those who have clean hands and a pure heart can stand on that hill and exercise that authority. He is sifting the Republican Party for its refusal to stand for moral principle and for playing political games with its constituents, who in 2004, voted on moral issues.

One of our young women in the Justice House of Prayer in Washington, D.C., had a dream on November 4, 2006, the Sunday before the elections: I was at the house on the farm and made a kind of agreement with a man who was the head of the GOP. In my dream, this GOP man broke the agreement. I went and confronted him, and he got in my face and started yelling at me. He then backed up and I pointed at him and said, "Our God is neither Republican nor Democrat, He will only honor those who are morally righteous and just." He left, slamming the door. (http://www.louengle.com/articles/1)

"I pointed at him and said, 'Our God is neither Republican nor Democrat, He will only honor those who are morally righteous and just.'" Only one problem, Lou. You don't believe that!!! If a Democrat takes the White House in 2008 (as I'm praying he or she will, so our prayers are cancelling each other out), even if that person is morally righteous or just you will oppose them as sure as the day is long. The reason is simple- the conservative evangelical/fundamentalist movement in America is the Republican Party's whore. They are in bed with the party, seduced by power and privilege. And a church which is so closely aligned with one segment of a nation's power brokers no longer possesses the ability or authority to speak prophetically to that nation.

"In no uncertain terms, the elections of 2006 showed us that there is no clear moral foundation upon which the nation votes. In this present historic moment, the Church was paralyzed. Tens-of-thousands stayed home and could not vote as if they were drunk with disillusionment." No, maybe tens of thousands of church members went to the polls, not voting for a Democrat as they were voting against a Republican. Maybe, just maybe, they were tired of their faith being used as a manipulative tool instead of something they hold very dear, something that stands as a rock for them and something they refuse to let you chisel away at.

So who is taking who here?

What Dave signed up for

2007-05-23T17:41:00.001-04:00

I used to be much more involved in the blogging world—reading and writing a few times a week. I had a list of favorites that I checked every day, and several of those were connected with the International House of Prayer. They seemed to always have something that challenged me. Lately, however, I've avoided blogs and blogging, especially those from the HOP. Too much of an attempt to appear uber-hip and show how cool they are. It's old, guys. I don't care about how you blogged from the Prayer room while IM'ing your friends and trying to figure out a way to sneak coffee past the eyes of Mike Bickle. If you are devoted to a prayer movement, then why don't you try praying in the prayer room? Huh. Who'd have thunk it?

You want a prayer movement? Try going here. Or here. Or here. These guys were devoted to a prayer movement long before the prayer movement became the latest "in" thing, and they will be devoted to their prayer movement long after the young adults that the IHOP has geared themselves toward has aged and finally realizes that God has a plan for people over 40 too.

But I do enjoy a blog written by a guy named Dave Sliker. I just read an article that can be found here.

I am sitting in this prayer room today, restless and hungry but with grace from a kind God to transform what I hunger for. It's what I signed up for.

- David

Lift up a prayer for me too, Dave.

What If His People Prayed? (for 2007)

2007-04-30T16:55:00.000-04:00

What if the armies of the Lord
Picked up and dusted off their swords
Vowed to set the captive free
And not let satan have one more
What if the Church, for heaven's sake
Finally stepped up to the plate
Took a stand upon God's promise
And stormed hell's rusty gates

What if His people prayed
And those who bear His name
Would humbly seek His face, yeah
And turn from their old ways

And what would happen if we prayed
For those raised up to lead the way
Then maybe kids in school would pray
And Iraq's children see light of day
What if the life that we pursue
Came from a hunger for the truth
What if the family turned to Jesus
Stopped asking Coulter what to do

What if His people prayed
And those who bear His name
Would humbly seek His face yeah
And turn from their own way
He said that He would hear
His promise has been made
He'll answer loud and clear, yeah
If only we would pray

If My people call by My name
If they'll humble themselves and pray
If My people call by My name
If they'll humble themselves and pray

What if His people prayed
And those who bear His name
Would humbly seek His face, yeah
And turn from their old ways
He said that He would hear
His promise has been made
He'll answer loud and clear yeaah
If only we would pray

(words by Casting Crowns, alterations are my own. Although you could substitute Limbaugh, Hannity or O'Reilly for Coulter; the sentiment is the same. It's time for the Christian Church in America to quit being the Republican Party's whore.)

They keep dragging me back in

2007-04-29T13:54:00.001-04:00

An open letter to both sides of the Titus Chu/Living Stream debacle

Every time I want out, they keep dragging me back in

---Michael Corleone

I really had no intention of opening this can again. I was done with the whole topic, I had said what I had to say, and that was it. Let the boys keep on bickering and let me get on with life.

But if I'm anything, I'm curious, and sometimes that gets the better of me. Plus, I still get hits on this blog (if it even qualifies as a blog anymore) from people looking for information on the subject, and right now if you Google "Titus Chu" the number one site that comes up is The Lord's Army, which doesn't qualify as "objective journalism" under any stretch of the imagination. And that bothers me. It bothers me because whoever writes for that site is doing more harm than good and hardly doing the Lord a favor.

So for those who have remained on the LSM side, who keep the seven feasts and stay loyal to the blended brothers, choosing to only read publications released by the ministry of the age, a word of advice. Do yourself a favor and drop the rhetoric, drop the strident tone, and minister Christ to people. Quit stirring the pot, quit suing other brothers to get some piece of property back, and dedicate yourself to God's building. Open the Life Studies once again, stop trying to prooftext them in order to prove what Brother Lee would have really wanted, and dish out the riches. There are hungry people out there who want the food you can supply. God, Christ, the Spirit, the Church, the Kingdom, the New Jerusalem. (I think there is another one in there but don't hold me to that.) Incarnation, Human Living, Crucifixion, Resurrection, Ascension, Glorification. The Son, with the Father, by the Spirit- the embodiment of the Triune God in Jesus Christ as God's tabernacle and God's temple, living the life of God to develop into the Kingdom of God. Remember these things? This is what brought you to the dance, and this is who will bring you home at night.

"The directors of "the church of the Torontonians Corporation" have now taken over the church property in Toronto. The three directors Steven Pritchard, Jonathan Png and David Lio have successfully manipulated the saints in accepting what will becoming the most authoritarian and none biblical by-laws of any locality and probably of any denominations….Nigel Tomes stood up to share why the new by-laws are necessary. He said the directors take care of the practical and financial side and the elders take care of the spiritual side. But now the church is under attack, therefore these by-laws are necessary. He did not explain how the church is being attacked. Is the church being "attacked" spiritually? If that is the case then how come the elders are not praying? Why would they need the directors to protect the church? What they are really trying to protect is the physical property. They have no concern for the spiritual aspect as a church, as it is quite apparent from their by-laws. The church in Toronto is truly being attacked; by the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenlies working through brothers like Nigel Tomes, Steve Pritchard, Jonathan Png, Robin Lao and Ian Brinksman." (Lord's Army blog, emphasis mine)

"How come the elders are not praying?" How come you aren't praying? Have you ever thought about the damage your writings cause as well, or are you just consumed with seeing the elders of the (supposed) "church of the Torontonians Corporation" get theirs? You talk about unscriptural by-laws and corporations, yet you support legal actions by LSM minions which are just as unscriptural? C'mon, man, grow up.

Now to "the other side"- those who believe that the excommunication/"quarantining" of Titus Chu is without merit- my advice to you would be…well… the same, actually. Just because you are allowing yourself to be open to other writings, to other ministries, doesn't mean that you need to forsake Living Stream publications. The Life Studies are just as valuable as the day you first found them. The Recovery Version footnotes are just as rich. Read them, love them, live them. More importantly, love and live the Christ that met you in those days and has sustained you ever since.

A little bit of Christ goes a long, long way.

Mac Attack

2007-04-20T16:33:00.000-04:00

(i know, stupid title, but whatever....)

Apple Megapatch fixes twenty-five vulnerabilities

Not the beloved Mac? Vulnerabilites? You mean Macs have security issues? If you believe the propaganda you would think that PCs are the only ones with issues.

Give it up, Mac geeks.

Christ Getting In Shape For Second Coming

2007-04-14T08:57:00.000-04:00

http://www.theonion.com/content/node/60246?utm_source=onion_rss_daily

The Lamb of God said He made the decision to get in shape late last year when, after two millennia of relative inactivity, He realized that at His age there was "no way" He could return to Earth, judge the souls of the innocent and wicked alike, and reign over the Kingdom of God for 1,000 years without prior conditioning.

"The Second Coming isn't just Me sitting on a great white throne and judging away," Christ said. "I also have to make all of the stars fall and shake all the powers in Heaven. That's why I've been working a lot with the medicine ball."

Christ, however, admitted that centuries of heavenly grace had enabled Him to "really let [Himself] go."

"I can't lead the armies of Heaven looking like some flabby slob," said Christ, who declined to disclose His "before" weight. "That guy can't be the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords. The faithful want a Messiah they can truly fear, not someone who's afraid to take off His shirt in public."

Nobody Told Me There’d Be Days Like These

2007-04-07T17:40:00.001-04:00

if i said i believe my eyes
and science can move my soul
if i said i'm not afraid to die
and i don't need you

i'd be lying

if i said the way he looks at me
doesn't make me want to undress
if i said i could leave you now
and go where i could forget

i'd be lying

i've been lying all my life with silence
and i need to find the words to tell you

if i said i don't want what i don't have
and all the answers are enough
if i said i believe in myself
and that's enough
i'd be lying
---Sam Phillips, "Lying"

Writing an entry every month and a half sure isn't going to build me a readership base. But maybe I just don't give a crap.

I almost titled this essay "Christians are assholes," because that's how I've been feeling lately. I read Christian blogs and see more mention of Ann Coulter than Jesus Christ, and I think to myself, "Boy, these people really need to get a clue." Ann Coulter isn't a preacher, she isn't even a good commentator. She is to political commentating what pro wrestling is to real sport. In other works, she's a bitch.

Christians defending their taste in music forget that music isn't what it's all about. If I have to hear the phrase "We're just Christians in a band" one more time, I'm going to go postal on someone. Try devoting as much energy into reading your Bible as you do in telling me why you have the right to go to Burning Man and why, if I really cared about reaching the lost, I would go too.

On a personal level, I can't forget Triablogue, the sharp-tongued blogger who ripped me a new one for daring to express some of my frustrations in the spiritual life after Hurricane Katrina (my essay and his response). If his point was that the theologically astute Christian can behave like an arrogant son of a bitch with impunity, well, mission accomplished there, Tri.

And then there is the charter member of the foot-in-mouth club, the Reverend Pat Robertson. He doesn't believe that Mormons are Christians, but he is having one speak at his university's commencement (presidential candidate Mitt Romney). Why? It should be obvious. If Romney becomes the party's nominee, Robertson has scored some points with the man. Pat is more concerned about gaining some political capital than being consistent in his spiritual stands.

Everywhere I turn, a Christian is behaving like a complete and utter asshole. And I am tired of pretending that I want to be indentified with them.

So at this point in my life I have little of spiritual benefit to offer anyone. I have nothing in the tank. I have an autistic son who throws fits for hours at a time, throwing himself on the floor and hurting himself in the process. I have an autistic daughter who hasn't developed enough at the age of four to be able to be mainstreamed into the local elementary school that her brother excels in. I neither have the time nor the energy to discuss Titus Chu, God's foreknowledge or whether Mormons have their ticket to heaven reserved. I just don't have the energy, and quite frankly I'm sorry there are people out there who do. Just feed somebody the bread. Don't whack them with the loaf.

Don't forget, people. The key word in Christian politician, or Christian music, or Christian blogger, is the word "Christian." Not the second part of the phrase.

Im sick and tired of hearing things
From uptight, short-sighted, narrow-minded hypocritics
All I want is the truth
Just gimme some truth

Ive had enough of reading things
By neurotic, psychotic, pig-headed politicians
All I want is the truth
Just gimme some truth

No short-haired, yellow-bellied, son of tricky dicky
Is gonna mother hubbard soft soap me
With just a pocketful of hope
Money for dope
Money for rope

No short-haired, yellow-bellied, son of tricky dicky
Is gonna mother hubbard soft soap me
With just a pocketful of soap
Money for dope
Money for rope

Im sick to death of seeing things
From tight-lipped, condescending, mamas little chauvinists
All I want is the truth
Just gimme some truth now

Ive had enough of watching scenes
Of schizophrenic, ego-centric, paranoiac, prima-donnas
All I want is the truth now
Just gimme some truth

No short-haired, yellow-bellied, son of tricky dicky
Is gonna mother hubbard soft soap me
With just a pocketful of soap
Its money for dope
Money for rope

Ah, Im sick and tired of hearing things
From uptight, short-sighted, narrow-minded hypocrites
All I want is the truth now
Just gimme some truth now

Ive had enough of reading things
By neurotic, psychotic, pig-headed politicians
All I want is the truth now
Just gimme some truth now

All I want is the truth now
Just gimme some truth now
All I want is the truth
Just gimme some truth

All I want is the truth

Just gimme some truth

---John Lennon, "Gimme Some Truth"

All I needed to know in life I learned from listening to KISS

2007-02-20T17:41:00.001-05:00

Interesting how music stays with you.

30 years ago I was an 11-year-old boy who had just moved to Ohio from Michigan. It was the summer of 1977 and I remember it well because Elvis Presley had just died. We took a family trip to the store, and being the impressionable youngster that I was, I wanted a record album. But not just any record album, mind you. We had just spent some time with my mother's family, including cousins who were in their late teens/early twenties, and I wanted the music they were listening to. I wanted…

"You can look at the records, but no Kiss!" my father intoned authoritatively.

Well, crap. That's the group I wanted. So I did what any rational 11-year-old boy would do when he wanted his own way- I threw a fit in the middle of K-mart. Having two children of my own who are prone to fits, I know how embarrassing they can be to a parent. At the time, of course, I didn't care. I had the allowance money available, and I wanted a Kiss album! I wanted a Kiss album! Soon my father relented, with the understanding that under no circumstances would the volume approach the level appreciated by Dan and Don. "Sure," I said with a wink. I would just wait until you weren't home. With the deal struck I was allowed to peruse the rock music selections, and I left the store with a copy of Love Gun, Kiss' latest effort.

I was entering a whole new world, a world of Circus magazine and loud guitars, a world where parents refused to enter and we didn't want them there anyway. I wasn't a teen yet, but I was on the fast track. And the 10 questions on my entrance exam concerned Plaster Casters and Love Guns, bass guitar players who were Almost Human and had Love For Sale, Hooligans and sixteen-year-old girls named Christine. I had just become a buck private in the Kiss Army.

Love Gun may have been my entrance exam, but Kiss Alive! became my graduate thesis. Alive was my second Kiss album and to this day is my favorite. The combination of the costumes, grease paint and sheer energy of the music made me a fan for life. I memorized the lyrics, copied the signatures from the bands' notes on the inside, and knew all of Paul Stanley's stage raps. I didn't know what partying e-vah-ree day meant, I didn't know why Gene's baby was worth the Deuce, but I knew I had Nothing To Lose. What a fantastic album.

As I entered junior high school, I quickly discovered that not everyone shared my appreciation for the hottest band in the world. "Kiss sucks!" became a battle cry. I was belittled for my music choices, but I didn't care. I may have been desperate for the approval of my peers, but in the matter of who reigned supreme in the music world I granted no quarter. Kiss taught me non-conformity at an age when being accepted meant the world.

One day on the schoolbus I got into a conversation with a red-haired kid named Billy Bowen. Why we started talking I have no idea. I just remember that the conversation turned to music. He asked me what my favorite bands were and I can remember thinking that I had a choice: either be honest and tell him that I like Kiss, or throw the name of Kiss in with a few other bands and hope he didn't notice. Not feeling like engaging in fisticuffs, I chose the latter.

"I like Kiss and REO Speedwagon," I replied.

"Cool. I like Kiss too." And a friendship was born.

Billy Bowen and I became fast friends. This was unusual, as military brats such as ourselves usually had a couple of years before our dads got the orders and we were shipped elsewhere. But the two of us bonded. We liked Kiss and girls, girls and Kiss. He made Anchor Bay Junior High School a little more bearable for me.

Early in 1979 I was perusing the newspaper when four familiar letters caught my eye. KISS, Pontiac Silverdome, July 13, 1979. My heart skipped a beat. Kiss! In Detroit! I have to go! How I would get there never crossed my mind. I just knew that I was going. When I got to the bus stop the next day Billy already knew. Kiss was coming! And his father was going to drive us there!

For the next few months I could think of nothing else except July 13^th and the Kiss Dynasty tour. I gave Billy the money, his dad bought the tickets, and I counted the days. Finally the day came. Billy's dad dropped us off at the Silverdome and left us there. Think about that for a minute. Two twelve-year-old kids alone at a Kiss concert? How in the world did that even happen?

We had packed up our tape recorders and cassette tapes, innocently thinking that we could just waltz in with recording equipment and tape the concert. Rude awakening number two. The security guards stopped us at the gate and would not let us in. Once we convinced them that we were just two stupid kids, they confiscated our tapes and sent us through. We had entered the promised land!

If you have read this far then you know that I thought the show was fantastic. Fire breathing! Blood spitting! Bass guitarists flying and lead guitars smoking! King of the Nighttime World! 2,000 Man! Rock and Roll All Night! I was in heaven.

Flash-forward 17 years. The makeup came, the makeup went, and the makeup came again. The boys were getting the original lineup back together and July 20, 1996 was my date with infamy. When it was go-time I knew all the words to every song and sang them all with reckless abandon. About three songs in I realized I was crying. Crying? There's no crying at Kiss concerts! But I was happy. I realized that I was finally doing something for the pure sake of doing it, not to prove I was Christian enough, not for some higher lofty motive, but just because it gave me joy.

The Bowens were transferred to New Hampshire, and I never saw my best friend again. Junior high and high school came and went and presented their own set of challenges. I flunked out of my student teaching semester in college and I've had child raising challenges up the ying-yang. 30 years after that Dynasty tour show in Pontiac, I am a 40-year-old father of two, and I still listen to Kiss. Kiss taught me to stand up for what I believe in when all around me were marching like lemmings into the pit. I feel no need to defend or justify it; I don't try to convert anyone; it just is.

I know, it's only rock and roll, but I like it.

Make his paths straight

2007-02-12T20:24:00.000-05:00

The Word of the Lord came one evening
Concerning His bride's great sin
He'd send down His Word to renew her
To prepare for the Bridegroom again

The Word said repent
From seeking vain glories
While the gifts in the Lord's name you give
Repent of all the first stones cast to kill
While your own damned self-righteousness lives

Prepare ye the way for the Lord
Prepare ye the way for the kingdom
Prepare ye the way
Prepare ye the way for the Lord

The Word said repent and turn from your strivings
Repent and turn from your hatred
Repent from the doctrines of men that divide
And tear like the wedding gown rent

Walk in His love like newborn children
Walk in His love, let the wedding gown mend
Walk in His love, with humility come with pure hearts
And cast all your cares to the wind

The Word of the Lord came one evening
Concerning His bride's sin
He assured me we will be forgiven
And then let the marriage begin
---John Michael Talbot, "Prepare Ye The Way"

JESUS CHRIST: THE ROLLING STONE INTERVIEW Pt. 5

2007-01-07T14:03:00.000-05:00

RS: Tell me the first thing that comes to your mind when I mention the following names. First up- Mary Magdalene.

JC: Beautiful woman.

RS: Herod.

JC: Great number in Superstar.

RS: Pontius Pilate.

JC: Listen to your wife next time.

RS: Simon Peter.

JC: Solid as a rock.

RS: John.

JC: Beloved.

RS: Judas Iscariot.

JC: (Pauses a moment) Sad.

RS: Is Judas in heaven?

JC: Take the log out of your own eye first.

RS: Is Judas in heaven?

JC: I'm not saying.

RS: Why not?

JC: Do you think he's in heaven?

RS: I'm not really of a spiritual mindset, but I would think that a person's answer to that question would have something to do with how they view suicide.

JC: And so the question moves away from concern for a person's immortal soul, and instead becomes centered on an issue. Once that happens we have the problem I described before, where people are more concerned with being right than with mercy and grace. "He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?" Micah. Look it up.

RS: Is there anyone out there doing things right?

JC: My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me.

________________________________

JESUS CHRIST: THE ROLLING STONE INTERVIEW Pt. 4

2007-01-05T18:02:00.000-05:00

RS: Let’s move on then. Your first recorded miracle is the turning of water into wine in Cana. This is considered to be the inauguration of your ministry. Fundamentalist followers of yours have yet to come to terms with the fact that this was indeed wine that you created, preferring to insist that it was really an extremely watered-down version of wine, or simply grape juice. My question is twofold: why a wedding reception, and was it really wine?

JC: Because, and yes. (smiles) This actually reflects back on your prior question about sexuality and marriage. Blessing the party at the wedding in Cana with a premium vintage wine should tell you what I think about marriage, should it not? In reality, it does nothing of the sort. I could very well have chosen to multiply the eggs at breakfast the next morning. I could have multiplied the children of the family next door. I chose to turn the water into wine in order to manifest my glory. It was the time chosen by my father. And yes, it was real wine. Why else would the host have said, “Every man serves the good wine first, and when the people have drunk freely, then he serves the poorer wine; but you have kept the good wine until now.” I doubt that watered-down grape juice would have been mistaken as premium vino.

RS: Jesus one, fundamentalists nothing.

JC: No, not really. There isn’t any kind of a competition here. If certain people want to abstain from wine, and by doing so believe that they are honoring me, then I bless that. If someone is enjoying wine with their meal, and want to bless their friends by laying out choice food and drink, I bless that too.

RS: So both sides are right.

JC: There are no “right” or “wrong” sides here. People who divide everyone into “sides” or “camps” are seeking their own glorification at the expense of another. The people who glory in their liberty are looking down upon the people who don’t share their convictions. The people who try to reign liberty in do the same thing. The end result isn’t a people who love me above all else, it’s a people who desire to climb to the top of a mountain which consists of another’s bones.

JESUS CHRIST: THE ROLLING STONE INTERVIEW Pt. 3

2007-01-03T04:46:00.000-05:00

RS: You’ve explained why you needed to be born instead of just appearing, but you haven’t answered my question- why the need to be born of a virgin?

JC: I’m God’s son, not Joseph’s. I needed to be born of a woman because that’s how humans come into being. My father initiated the action because in order for my death to be a perfect sacrifice for the sins of humanity, my life needed an eternal quality. If I died as a human being at a specific point in history, the effects of my death would be limited in space and time. By being born as fully human and fully divine, my sacrifice became eternal.

RS: So there is something in the temporal process of human conception and birth that would have prevented you from paying for our sins? That sounds like you are looking askance at sexuality.

JC: I did create it, you know. If I thought that sex was something evil, something to be avoided, I would have made the process of conception and birth less enjoyable and more utilitarian.

RS: So sex was meant to be enjoyable. Can I quote you on that?

JC: Absolutely!

RS: So how did your followers get the reputation for being cold fish?

JC: You’ll have to ask them. Listen- I wove experience into the fabric of life. I made roses to smell beautiful, I made anchovies salty, I made beets to taste foul. I created women to be beautiful, I created men to be visually appealing in a completely different way, and I created the orgasm. It’s not that hard to understand.

RS: Getting back to our discussion on your early years, the Gospels have nothing to say about your life from the age of 12 until around 30. Why is that?

JC: Not everything I did is written down. Ask John. “These things have been written so you may believe that He is the Christ, the son of God, and by believing you may have life in his name.” The Gospels were written on a need to know basis. What wasn’t necessary to be known didn’t get put in there.

RS: But would you care to clear up the mystery for our readers? A lot of people have been curious for a long time.

JC: (looking annoyed) I was a carpenter. I didn’t go to Tibet, I didn’t make appearances to Indian tribes when my parents thought I was sleeping, and I didn’t write a book. I made tables, chairs, benches, and the like. Day after day it was all the same. If that had been written down the Gospels would have been 2,000 pages each.

RS: Is there anything wrong with curiosity?

JC: There is everything wrong with idle speculation.

RS: Explain.

JC: “Now flee from youthful lusts and pursue righteousness, faith, love and peace, with those who call on the Lord from a pure heart. But refuse foolish and ignorant speculations, knowing that they produce quarrels.” 2 Timothy 2:22-23, if anyone out there wants to look it up. Show me how many discussions about my “missing years” haven’t resulted in someone proclaiming that they alone have the ultimate revelation and everyone else is just screwed.

RS: But not every attempt to explain “the missing years” is an attempt to become king of the castle. It could be that someone in that pursuit of righteousness wants to know if there is something there that would benefit them in said pursuit.

JC: Most people are only interested in projecting on me what they wish I had said in those years. They have decided what they want to do, and they’re looking for some justification for it. If people would focus more on what I did say, rather than on what I might have said, they would get a lot farther.

JESUS CHRIST: THE ROLLING STONE INTERVIEW Pt. 2

2007-01-02T06:04:00.000-05:00

RS: If I may quote you for a moment, you have said that “my sheep know my voice.” If you don’t micromanage people’s lives, what form does your voice take? How would the President have heard what he thought was your voice if, in fact, you weren’t giving him the guidance he’s claiming?

JC: My sheep hear my voice when I am calling them into the fold. I would expect grown adults to be able to choose their own socks in the morning or find a parking space without my intervention. (The waitress comes by, and Jesus asks for another cappuccino.) I will admit to calling people to specific things, and occasionally putting an exclamation point at the end of the sentence by personally making my will known. But if I dictate a person’s daily schedule to them, I don’t have people who love me freely; I have robots.

RS: So what you’re saying is that nine times out of ten, people already know what your will is for them simply by the circumstances that surround them…

JC: (interrupting) Well, it’s that, but it’s more. If someone has a desire to enter politics, for instance, and they have some obvious gifts in that area, then by all means they should go into politics. If they are good guitar players, they should consider using their talents instead of burying them. I’m the one that gave them said talents, and I am the one who planted certain desires in their hearts. I will make one caveat, however. I may have given someone the ability to play the guitar well; that doesn’t necessarily mean that I am going to make them a star. If someone has a writing talent, they may become the next John Grisham, and then again they may not. I may have given them certain talents to use in their local preschool. People have the tendency to try and baptize their ambitions, and assume that they are doing me service.

RS: So you expect people to use the wisdom you gave them, thereby reducing the number of tortillas that you have to appear on.

JC: (laughing heartily) Oh, man, if I had a dollar for every time someone had a tortilla, or a grilled cheese sandwich, or a grain silo with an image of me or my mother on it, I would be a rich man.

RS: I’d like to back up for a minute, and talk with you about your early years. Two of the gospels mention the manner of your birth. By being born of a virgin, were you making a statement about sexual activity and carnal desire?

JC: Uhh, no… actually I was merely seeking a way to be born. (Laughs) In order to be able to redeem mankind, and pay the price for their sin, I needed to live a life as they lived, sans the sin. Look at what the author of Hebrews says….

RS: Speaking of which, would you care to clear up for us once and for all the mystery of who wrote that book?

JC: If I haven’t said anything up until now, why do you think I would break my silence?

RS: OK, but it’s not like I’m asking you to appear in a tortilla or something. (The table breaks out in laughter.)

JC: (wiping tears from his eyes) Ten thousand comedians out of work and you’re trying to be one. As I was saying, the writer of Hebrews said this:

Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but One who has been tempted in all things as we are, yet without sin. Therefore let us draw near with confidence to the throne of grace, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

When I walked the earth in the early first century, I was not a zombie. I got hungry and thirsty; when I was tired I slept; when nature called I answered. When Satan tempted me in the desert it was not an exercise in futility. I possessed the ability to give in to those temptations. If I didn’t, how could they be considered temptations? By going through the process of human living, I became someone who could identify with the weaknesses of others. And by identifying with those weaknesses, I moved one step closer to helping people rise above them.

RS: How so?

JC: My whole life has been a series of steps moving towards a goal, that of redeeming mankind and reconciling them with my father. Part of that process involved living on this earth as a man, with everything that goes along with human living. The final step in a human’s life is death, and that’s the one that they could not overcome. But I did, and by doing so, and living within them, they are able to overcome the complexities of life and ultimately live forever.

RS: You just moved past three pages of my questions.

JC: (laughing) That’s one of the advantages of seeing the end from the beginning, I guess.

JESUS CHRIST: THE ROLLING STONE INTERVIEW Pt. 1

2007-01-01T07:16:00.000-05:00

JESUS CHRIST: THE ROLLING STONE INTERVIEW

The Lord. The Savior. The Redeemer of Man. He goes by many titles. When people hit their thumbs with a hammer they use his name. He’s been used as an icon for every cause known to man, from animal rights to presidential politics.

His name? Jesus Christ.

To say that Jesus cuts a traditional Christ figure is to belabor the obvious. He stands 6’1”, with a Middle Eastern face framed by long, brown hair. Robert Powell he isn’t. He would be right at home with the other rough and tumble characters that make up the Israeli landscape.

I met Jesus at a small coffee shop on the west side of Cleveland. Some of the topics we covered included his death, his relationship with Judas Iscariot, and his feelings about the people who claim his name today.
______________________________________________________

Rolling Stone: I guess I should start by asking you what you preferred to be called- Jesus? Christ?

Jesus Christ: Jesus will be fine.

RS: Jesus, for the past several years you have been one of the nation’s most recognizable political figures, in addition to people who recognize you solely for your religious significance.

JC: (puts his hands in front of him and shakes his head) Hey, don’t blame that on me! (The group at the table laughs)

RS: So you don’t approve of those who use you to gain percentage points in the polls?

JC: The words I used in Israel were, “The person who believes on me will have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day.” There’s nothing in that sentence that says anything about giving them the Supreme Court justice that they want. The person who trusts in me to give them eternal life has every right to be involved in the political process, even to seek the highest office in the land in which they dwell. But to imply that because I love them and died for them I approve of their political aspirations? Sorry, go back and read my words again- “My kingdom is not of this world.”

RS: You aren’t telling people out there to sit on the steps of abortion clinics or wear orange tape over their mouths with the acronym L.I.F.E. on it?

JC: (smiling slyly) That’s for me to know and you to find out. (He takes a sip of coffee) In most cases, I don’t micromanage people’s lives like that. If you want to stand in front of an abortion clinic with a sign, fine. If you need a gimmick like the orange tape, more power to you. Just don’t tell people that I made you do it. Especially if you are going to ignore my weightier commands in the process.

RS: Explain.

JC: Take your war in Iraq, for instance. George Bush will claim my guidance in reaching the decision to go to war, but how does that square with my command to love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you? When someone dies who didn’t trust me for salvation, that’s hardly an occasion to rejoice. When a bunch of them die, you had better be sure that your cause is just. And in this case, I don’t think it is.

RS: I thought that you weren’t taking sides?

(Jesus just stares straight ahead and smiles.)

A Question of Racism

2006-12-21T07:51:00.000-05:00

Let’s take a short quiz. I will give you a series of scenarios and you will tell me if A) the person in question is a racist; B) the person in question is not a racist; or C) insufficient information.

1) A friend of yours tells you that he isn’t attracted to black women.
2) A little girl names her black doll “Niggey”.
3) A person uses the word “Nigger”.
4) A person sells “black memorabilia” on the Internet.
5) A person uses the phrase “some of my best friends are black.”
6) Someone begins a sentence, “I’m not a racist, but….”
7) In reviewing applicants for a job, an employer has a white person and a black person who are equally qualified. He hires the white person.
8) A white guy wears a dashiki.

Give yourself 0 points every time you answered A, 3 points every time you answered B, and 5 points for every time you answered C.

Now for the answers. If you scored less than 40, YOU FLUNKED. If you answered anything but “C” to any of these questions, YOU FAILED. You have been influenced by the current racially hyper-sensitive atmosphere in our country, and are suffering from induced guilt.

Let me explain.

1) A friend of yours tells you that he isn’t attracted to black women. This person could very well be a racist. They could also be telling you that they aren’t attracted to a certain physical type, in the same way that some people aren’t attracted to thin women, fat women, blondes, or brunettes. There isn’t enough information here.

2) A little girl names her black doll “Niggey”. Once again we don’t have enough information to say whether this person is a racist. It could mean that this person was JUST A LITTLE GIRL. Let’s use some common sense here.

3) A person uses the word “Nigger”. This is where the hypersensitivity of our country comes into play. If I use the word in the sentence “So-and-so called someone a nigger,” that usage in and of itself isn’t racist. If someone calls a person a nigger, then you might have a case; but even in that situation we don’t know. They could have just been angry and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Maybe they are joking around with a person they are friends with, a person they know won’t be offended, a person who might come back with a charged term of their own. Was Chevy Chase a racist when he used the word in a sketch on Saturday Night Live with Richard Pryor? Not enough information.

4) A person sells “black memorabilia” on the Internet. A little more problematic, but we still don’t have enough information. I think this so-called “black memorabilia” should just be destroyed. They are products of racism. The person selling them on Ebay in the 00’s isn’t necessarily a racist. Tasteless- definitely. Racist- we don’t know.

5) A person uses the phrase “some of my best friends are black.” Not enough information. Maybe some of my best friends are black. In our current climate, however, you can’t use this phrase without being forced to wear the scarlet “R”.

6) Someone begins a sentence, “I’m not a racist, but….” Not enough information. For some people this is the classic sign that a person is about to utter a racist statement. I believe that people feel the need to use this phrase when they know that someone out there is bound to misunderstand them. See question #5. In a land where we see racism under every rock, people are going to feel defensive. Do you blame them? Once you are branded a racist, there is no forgiveness.

7) In reviewing applicants for a job, an employer has a white person and a black person who are equally qualified. He hires the white person. Not enough information. Did he flip a coin? Did he throw darts at the applications? We don’t know how the decision was arrived at. You may think that in these situations the black person should get the nod in order to rectify past injustices; I would tend to lean that way, but not doing this does not mean that a person is a racist.

8) A white guy wears a dashiki. This isn’t racism- this is a white guy being stupid. Not enough information.

Thank you for playing. As a parting gift, Vanna will be handing out healthy doses of liberal guilt at the door.

The Joys of Ebay

2006-12-20T23:22:00.000-05:00

Ya gotta love Ebay, don't you? I mean, where else can you find just scads of worthless crap. I mean, besides my closet.

I was doing a little Ebay surfing tonight and decided that I wanted to find just the worst stuff imaginable. Didn't take long before I found what is known in collector's circles as "black memorabilia." No, I don't mean an Oprah Winfrey autograph. I don't mean a suit coat owned by Barack Obama. I mean... well, let me show you what I mean.

(The captions and descriptions in bold are real. The comments in between are my own. Anyone easily offended can back out now.)

"OFFICIAL" NEGRO BLACK MAMMY snowglobe

"THAT'S RIGHT, this is an 'OFFICIAL' NEGRO BLACK MAMMY snowglobe.
Watch for hours as the elegant snowflakes glisten and float gently around this lovely victim of oppression. The 'OFFICIAL' NEGRO BLACK MAMMY snowglobe stands 4" tall with a 3" base. This snowglobe will make the perfect gift for collectors of 'Black Memorabilia'"

Well holy crap.

But wait... There's more.

WATERMELON NEGRO girl huge advertising SEEDS pin

"Here's an unusual 3.5" beautiful pin; ..excellent condition.. the pin uses vintage artwork from advertising archives that employed racial stereotypes for product recognition.... this pin was made as original collectible c. late 1970s utilizing earlier product tin advertising artwork."

good God.

CAST IRON 4 EYED NEGRO LADY BOTTLE OPENER WALL MOUNT

"Unusual Cast Iron 4 eyed Lady Bottle Opener. Approximately 4" x 4". Holes in ears for easy mounting. This is a stock photo. Very nice item for a collector of bottle openers or to give as a gift for someone who has everything."

yeah, if the person who has everything is missing that special something racist from their collection.

mayo's tobacco co. rolly polly brownie tin Negro Mammy

"Here she is . The one you've been looking for. As described in one of the books, "Negro Mammy" 7" x 19" cir at widest part. Pull off lid. She is in beautiful condition for a tin made around 1909/1912 She does have 3 or 4 little indents 1/2 dia. or less on her head.You can see them in the pics.Also there are 3 pin head size spots on head where paint is missing.This certainly does not detract from her overall beauty.The bottom has normal wear.I'm not sure but I believe collectors call this fine condition. Very close to pristine. Good luck on your bidding!!"

and I saved the worst for last....

Circa 1950 " Ten Little Nigger Boys" by Pyramid books

"Published by "Pyramid Publications - Sydney" probably in early 50's late 40's. Drawings by Mollie Quick. Cover is damaged to top and bottom of spine and staples that hold pages have come away from cover. Inner pages are in excellent condition, though 1st page has owners name in ink " Garry Torres." Excellent collectors book."

And this went for $157 American.

Oh... my... God.

As Beavis and Butthead would say, "What the hell is this crap?"

What we desire

2006-12-17T07:11:00.000-05:00

We are all convinced that we desire the truth above all. Nothing strange about this. It is natural to man, an intelligent being, to desire the truth…. But actually, what we desire is not “the truth” so much as to “be in the right.” To seek the pure truth for its own sake may be natural to us, but we are not able to act always in this respect according to our nature. What we seek is not the pure truth, but the partial truth that justifies our prejudices, our limitations, our selfishness. This is not “the truth.” It is only an argument strong enough to prove us “right.” And usually our desire to be right is correlative to our conviction that somebody else (perhaps everybody else) is wrong.

Why do we want to prove them wrong? Because we need them to be wrong. For if they are wrong, and we are right, then our untruth becomes truth; our selfishness becomes justice and virtue; our cruelty and lust cannot be fairly condemned. We can rest secure in the fiction we have determined to embrace as “truth.” What we desire is not the truth, but rather that our lie should be proved “right,” and our iniquity be vindicated as “just.” This is what we have done to pervert our natural, instinctive appetite for truth.

No wonder we hate. No wonder we are violent. No wonder we exhaust ourselves in preparing for war. And in doing so, of course, we offer the enemy another reason to believe that he is right, that he must arm, that he must get ready to destroy us. Our own lie provides the foundation of truth on which he erects his own lie, and the two lies together react to produce hatred, murder, disaster.
--Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander, p.78.

Great quote from a great writer. I found this in a pile of old notebooks this morning; this particular notebook had nothing but Merton quotes in it. I think my New Year's resolution, at least one of them, will be to dive back into Merton.

What is missing from this picture?

2006-12-13T07:29:00.000-05:00

You know, you spend your whole life knowing that people are eventually going to die, and yet when those people you love do die, it’s never at the right time.

In 1996 my grandfather woke up and was unable to walk. If they found out why, no one ever told me. He was taken to the nursing home that was connected with their assisted living complex. In a letter that my grandmother sent that week, she described going to visit him and seeing him sitting at a table in a wheelchair. That is one scene that I still can’t handle, and I never saw it, just envisioned it.

Piedmont Gardens is where he spent his final days. He stopped eating, and regardless of the pleas of the staff, he still refused food. It wasn’t long after that point that he died.

My grandfather was 82 when he died, yet his death came too soon. I met my wife the following year, and he never got to meet her. He would have loved her like a long lost daughter. In the year 2000 my son Matthew Stanley was born, named after my grandfather. He never got to meet his first great-grandson. We never got to take a picture of four generations.

You know, you spend your whole life knowing that people are eventually going to die, and yet when those people you love do die, it’s never at the right time.

My aunt Evelyn was the person who relayed current information on my grandfather’s health to us via this new thing called e-mail. Our relationship changed; whereas at one time I was the kid and she was the aunt, now we were friends. I even got to dispense with the formality of calling her “Aunt Evelyn”; she was now just Evelyn, my aunt, my advisor, my friend.

In April of 2001 I had just got home from work, and my mother called. Evelyn had suffered two heart attacks- did I get the e-mail? I hadn’t had time to check my e-mail yet, so I hung up the phone and went to the computer, only to have a revelation- how would I have gotten an e-mail about this? Evelyn was the one who always sent these kinds of e-mails. Within the hour my mother called me back. Evelyn had been taken off life support. She was dead.

That really sucked.

I hadn’t been able to make it to my grandfather’s memorial service, but there was no way that I was going to miss this one. I flew out to California where my grandmother met me and my sister at the gate. My grandmother had always been a lively woman, a woman who rode in a hot-air balloon when she was eighty, a woman who worked as a church secretary for 60 years; but at that moment she looked every bit of her 84 years. For the first time, she looked old.

We did the traditional MacNair things while we were out there- we looked at pictures, we ate Chinese food, we laughed as well as cried. Throughout it all something didn’t seem right. In my words at the memorial service I gave voice to that feeling- we may have been sitting around the Chinese food table, we may have filled 12 seats, but there were two spots empty. Without my grandfather and Evelyn there it wasn’t the same. It never would be.

I still think about Evelyn at least a couple of times a week. I still have her e-mail address in my contact list- I can’t bring myself to delete it. I still have e-mails from her. She was a special ed teacher, and she would have been a great help in sorting out issues regarding my children’s autism. But worst of all, I’ve lost a best friend, and I don’t have many of those to spare. Her death hit me hard.

You know, you spend your whole life knowing that people are eventually going to die, and yet when those people you love do die, it’s never at the right time.

Three years went by. In 2002 my daughter was born, and we named her Rebecca Evelyn, after my aunt. My grandmother continued as a secretary, continued being the matriarch of the family, but she also displayed her age more and more. She would forget birthdays. She would forget that I had just sent her pictures of the kids. These may seem like small things, but my Grandma Mac just didn’t forget things. In 2004 she had a stroke. In typical Grandma Mac fashion, she worked hard at physical therapy, and after a few weeks she was able to move back into her apartment. Soon after that, she had a second stroke, and she lost the fight. She died in May of 2004.

I flew out to speak at her memorial service. She had the whole plan laid out a long time beforehand, including the music and speakers, and I doubt that I was on her list, but I insisted. A service designed to celebrate her life had to have a member of her family on the bill. Her family was the most important thing in the world to her. There were times that she could be a little overbearing in letting us know that we hadn’t written her in a while, but that wasn’t because she was trying to control us, it was because she wanted to hear from us. Well, she heard from us- my sisters read Scripture, my brother sang, and I was the first speaker.

That week we had the sorrowful task of cleaning out her apartment. I felt like a vulture. We were encouraged to take things of hers, but I didn’t want to. It felt wrong. I ended up taking some pictures, my grandfather’s masters and doctoral theses, and his cap and stole from his doctoral ceremony. I only took one of the two dozen grape sodas she had in the refrigerator, for what reason we will never know. Nor did I take any of the buttons she had carefully sorted in old Band-Aid containers. I did take the birthday card she had set aside for me- for my 50th birthday, which would have taken place long after she had died. We spent the time wrapping plates, looking at pictures, and laughing, telling stories about how she is probably sorting angel feathers now and drawing up a weekly itinerary for Jesus Christ. That was my grandmother- always the organizer, always the writer of letters, always the leader of the family.

You know, you spend your whole life knowing that people are eventually going to die, and yet when those people you love do die, it’s never at the right time.

Things are different now, and Christmas time always serves to remind me of that. There is no big box coming from California now, no advent calendar, no book of meditations from my Uncle Mark (Evelyn’s husband). I don’t make shoo-fly pie every year anymore, and even though we still hand out presents one at a time and open them one at a time before we hand out another round and repeat the process, I wish we would just get on with it.

Death really sucks.

But the memories linger.

The twelve people I would invite to dinner

2006-12-01T23:20:00.000-05:00

A popular party game is having people list the twelve people from history, famous or not, whom they would invite to dinner. I've done this many a time, and here is the list of people I usually come up with.

1) Jesus Christ
2) Adolf Hitler
3) my grandfather, Arthur Stanley MacNair, Jr.
4) Pope John Paul II
5) Witness Lee
6) Watchman Nee
7) Charles Manson
8) Kurt Cobain
9) John Lennon
10) Ty Cobb
11) my friend Cathy
12) Howard Dean

Go ahead, discuss.

Retraction

2006-11-24T08:02:00.000-05:00

In reviewing yesterday's post, I think I was wrong in referring to Joshua and Delores Thompson as "pieces of crap."

That would be an insult to actual pieces of crap.

Dictionary definition

2006-11-23T19:20:00.000-05:00

From the Merriam-Webster's dictionary, under the entry "pieces of crap":

Katrina ripoff? Couple sells church's gift house
By Woody Baird,Associated Press

Memphis, Tenn. A church that wanted to do something special for Hurricane Katrina victims gave a $75,000 house, free and clear, to a couple who said they were left homeless by the storm. But the couple turned around and sold the place without ever moving in, and went back to New Orleans.

"Take it up with God," an unrepentant Joshua Thompson told a TV reporter after it was learned that he and the woman he identified as his wife had flipped the home for $88,000.

Church members said they feel their generosity was abused by scam artists. They are no longer even sure that the couple were left homeless by Katrina or that they were a couple at all.

"They came in humble like they really needed a new start, and our hearts went out to them," said Jean Phillips, a real estate agent and member of the Temple of Deliverance Church of God in Christ. "They actually begged for the home."

The church was also shocked by an ungrateful interview the couple gave with WHBQ-TV in Memphis."I really don't like this area," said Delores Thompson. "I really didn't, and I didn't know anybody, so that's why I didn't move in and I sold it."

Thompson, reached at a New Orleans phone number by The Associated Press on Tuesday, thanked the church for its generosity but said she saw nothing wrong in selling the three-bedroom, two-bath house.

"Do I have any legal problems? What do you mean? The house was given to me," she said. "I have the paperwork and everything."

She refused further comment and hung up.

Correction

2006-11-16T18:58:00.000-05:00

In the Johnny Cash post I listed the Loretta Lynn album I liked as Wildwood Flower. It was actually titled Van Lear Rose. Wildwood Flower was June Carter Cash's last album which, unfortunately, I didn't care for. But back in the day? Oh man, go listen to the song "Jackson" and tell me that June Carter Cash couldn't carry a tune. That song gets turned up to 11 in my car.

The Man In Black

2006-11-15T05:59:00.000-05:00

I fell into a burnin' ring of fire
I went down, down, down
And the flames went higher
And it burns, burn, burns
The ring of fire, the ring of fire.
---Johnny Cash, "Ring of Fire"

A child's favorite music vs his parent's favorite music- truly the age-old struggle. When I was growing up my parents enjoyed country music, and artists like Hank Williams, Porter Waggoner and Loretta Lynn. My first concert was Mel Tillis at the Michigan State Fair. I remember my father playing songs from a country music songbook on a guitar with four strings. Me? I was much cooler than all that. Give me the Bay City Rollers. (Like that's cool.)

But there was one song that I thought was pretty funny, so I would actually pause to listen when it came on. That song was "A Boy Named Sue" by Johnny Cash. The rest of his music got lumped in with the other country artists my parents made me listen to on long car trips, although shooting a man in Reno just to watch him die was an interesting turn of phrase. Yeah, "A Boy Named Sue" was entertaining. Rap artists today owe a lot to songs of that style.

My daddy left home when I was three
And he didn't leave much to ma and me
Just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.
Now, I don't blame him cause he run and hid
But the meanest thing that he ever did
Was before he left, he went and named me "Sue."

Well, he must o' thought that is quite a joke
And it got a lot of laughs from a' lots of folk
It seems I had to fight my whole life through.
Some gal would giggle and I'd get red
And some guy'd laugh and I'd bust his head
I tell ya, life ain't easy for a boy named "Sue."
---Johnny Cash, "A Boy Named Sue"

Time went on and I began to develop my own taste in music and my own favorites. Kiss was at the top of the list, along with AC/DC, REO Speedwagon and Journey. All rock and roll. No country allowed, and especially not the old stuff like Dolly Parton and Johnny Cash. Mention the name of Johnny Cash and I might ask, "Is he even still around?"

Funny thing happened around 1994- I discovered that yes, indeed, Johnny Cash was still around, and he had just recorded an album with a guy named Rick Rubin. Up until that time Rubin had only produced rap records and speed metal bands like Slayer. The pairing of Rubin and Johnny Cash was intruiging. The fact that Rolling Stone magazine gave a country album a five-star review was even more so. I wanted to hear this album, but I didn't want to pay $15 for a country album. I finally wandered into a record store and buried the Johnny Cash CD in a pile with Kiss and Soundgarden. If the cashier checked me out fast he might not notice how uncool I was.

"Johnny Cash? I've heard that this CD is really good."

Well there went my facade.

First time I shot her I shot her in the side
Hard to watch her suffer
But with the second shot she died
Delia's gone, one more round
Delia's gone

But jailer, oh, jailer
Jailer, I can't sleep
'Cause all around my bedside
I hear the patter of Delia's feet
Delia's gone, one more round
Delia's gone
---Johnny Cash, "Delia's Gone"

The album which won the Grammy that year for best contemporary folk album was a fantastic album indeed. American Recordings was a simple album- just Johnny and his guitar. Acoustic music being one of my favorite styles, I took to it right away.

OK, now I've lost it. I'm listening to Johnny Cash and liking it. What's next, Loretta Lynn?

Well.... She recorded a CD with Jack White of the White Stripes called Van Lear Rose, which I wanted to hear but was more averse to buying than I was Johnny Cash. I checked it out from the library and listened to it. And liked it as well.

Something weird is going on. I'm liking my parents' music? Am I getting old?

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything

What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
---Johnny Cash, "Hurt" (written by Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails)

I didn't buy his next two albums Unchained and Solitary Man, but I did delve into his back catalog some with the box set Love--God--Murder, and I liked what I heard. My affinity for the man in black was growing. There was some good music here, and I was sorry that I had waited so long.

Then came American IV: The Man Comes Around, and the song "Hurt", a song originally performed by Nine Inch Nails on an album called The Downward Spiral. The song is very compelling, and Johnny Cash really made it his own. You could feel the despair in his voice as he sang about the pain caused by his own past of drug abuse. Then the video was made, and I wanted to tell people to stop making videos at that point because it had been done to perfection. It contained a collection of video clips throughout Johnny's career, interspersed with clips of a very old Johnny Cash singing the song. And I think that's one of the qualities that makes this video so powerful; Johnny is at the end of his life, lamenting that everyone he knows has gone away.

As sure as night is dark and day is light
I keep you on my mind both day and night
And happiness I've known proves that it's right
Because you're mine, I walk the line

You've got a way to keep me on your side
You give me cause for love that I can't hide
For you I know I'd even try to turn the tide
Because you're mine, I walk the line
---Johnny Cash, "I Walk The Line"

Yesterday I was listening to the Carter Family on my way to school. I have some Hank Williams on reserve at the public library as well. Life has come full circle.

Hi, my name is Sean, and I am a Johnny Cash fan.

There's a man going around taking names
And he decides who to free and who to blame
Everybody won't be treated quite the same
There will be a golden ladder reaching down
When the man comes around

The hairs on your arm will stand up
At the terror in each sip and each sup
Will you partake of that last offered cup
Or disappear into the potter's ground
When the man comes around
---Johnny Cash, "The Man Comes Around"

Mr. Brown goes (back) to Washington

2006-11-07T21:10:00.000-05:00

Me and Senator-elect Sherrod Brown, (D) Ohio

Baby Got Book

2006-11-07T08:07:00.000-05:00

Now this is wicked funny....

"Baby Got Book" by Sir Reads-A-Lot

Nothing funny about it

2006-11-06T17:34:00.000-05:00

I’ve written extensively about Anchor Bay High School and my experiences there in past posts. I was thinking about it today and one of the people I thought of was a boy named Ronnie Decker. Ronnie was one of those kids that got made fun of and was totally clueless about it. He was “a little slow.” He would ask perfectly innocent questions that seemed logical to him, but which brought heavy laughter by those who supposedly had their wits about them.

I thought about Ronnie today because it finally occurred to me that he was a product of special education, a student who was integrated into typical classrooms instead of being sequestered in a special ed room for all the days of his schooling. Ronnie may have been slightly retarded, he may have been autistic, I don’t know. But I asked myself one question- are Matthew and Rebecca going to be treated like Ronnie Decker? Will Matthew be beaten up and ridiculed by the asshole population of junior high school? (And I’m not sorry for using that word, because it’s the only one that fits here.) Will Rebecca be taken advantage of by some smooth talking Lothario who only wants to get in her pants? (Once again, a description that is appropriate.)

I have no answers to these questions and no solutions to these potential situations. And that pisses me off (see preceding paragraph) because I don’t want my kids to go through these things, yet there may be nothing that I can do to prevent them.

Crap.

I like big "buts" and I cannot lie

2006-11-06T06:36:00.000-05:00

Read an interesting post on Ted Haggard which is unfortunately all too typical of the attitude among Christians. You can read it here. In the last paragraph he makes the observation that I expected:

"Furthermore, does anyone else find it just a bit curious that this accusation comes just days before the state of Colorado votes on the issue of homosexual marriage? For people who might be undecided on the issue, hearing that a well known opponent of the measure has been living in the sin he condemns might just cause them to vote in favor. However, it may just be that the accusation will back fire, and those who didn't care one way or the other will react to the obvious political agenda behind these accusations and voters across Colorado (and other states voting on this issue) will rise up against the measure."

Right here is why I have issues with Christians and politics. I believe that evryone should vote, and everyone should be aware of the political situation, whether Christian, Jewish, Hindu or Buddhist. The problem with this conservative Christian/Republican movement in this country, however, is that their priorities are skewed. They act as if the only thing that matters is the vote, and not just any vote but the Republican vote. (Boy, are they in for a surprise come Tuesday.) The writer of this blog boils the whole thing down to how it will affect the election. Forget about the fact that a marriage is now hurting. Forget about the fact that a church has lost their pastor. By golly, how does this affect the election? Geez.

Ted Haggard laid it all on the table in what was probably the hardest thing he's ever had to do in his life. For that he deserves a tip of the hat. He got caught, he owned up to it, although here is something interesting. He said that he has had a problem with sexual sin for a long time. How come he couldn't get help for this? Two reasons. One, most churches in America are facades with little substance. If people have struggles like this and need help they can't get it. You don't go to church to confess your sins and be honest about them, you go to church so people can see that you are there.

The second reason is that even if he had confessed this a long time ago, evangelical Christians in this country wouldn't believe it anyway. "Touch not God's anointed and do his prophets no harm" is the mantra often heard. And in situations where someone comes forward and says "the pastor did such-and-so", the church members clamp their hands over their ears, close their eyes tight, and chant "I'm not listening!" in between choruses of The Battle Hymn of the Republic.

Or... they blame the accuser. "Yeah, Ted may have committed an indiscretion.... but look how bad this other guy is! He's a male prostitute? Who are you going to believe? This is all politically motivated..." blah, blah, blah. Well here's a thought- forget the "but..."s. There is only one Sir Mix-A-Lot, and you aren't him. When that co-worker you know who is always hostile towards Christians says "Hey, look what happened- another preacher couldn't keep his horse in the barn", don't say anything about the accuser. Just say that you're sorry. Just try and be humble.

And don't use that classic old chestnut "Christians aren't perfect, just forgiven." That so sounds like a massive rationalization. If my daughter grows up and starts dating a guy who comes to me and says, "You know, sir (all of her boyfriends will call me Sir), I can't guarantee that I won't sleep with your daughter, and if I sleep with her I can't guarantee that I will wear my raincoat- after all, I'm not perfect, just forgiven", I am going to say "Is that so? Well there's the door, Jack. Don't let it hit you where the good Lord split you."

And that's all I have to say about that.

Sorry if the post title bothers you, but it was just such an obvious play on words that I had to use it :)

Like a fine wine

2006-11-05T09:18:00.000-05:00

Can we talk here? Will someone tell me why, oh why, mothers insist on aging their children by months? Before a year old I can understand, but once they turn one year old, then they are one year old, not 12 months. A two year old is two years old, not 24 months. My kids are six and four, not 81 months and 49 months. You can't keep them babies by using months instead of years; the aging process is irreversible.

After all, my mother and father don't start a discussion of their family by saying, "Our oldest son is Sean- he's 481 months old."

Response from the church in Toronto/ a call to pray

2006-11-04T08:30:00.000-05:00

A blogger who uses the name "The Lord's Army" posted a summary of a recent meeting of the church in Toronto where they discussed the Titus Chu excommunication and what their response should be to it. You can read that post here.

A brother who was at that meeting posted quite a different interpretation of the events over at The Bereans forum (here). He closed his post by asking for prayer for the church there. That would be a good idea for them, as well as for Ted Haggard. I have to confess that I haven't done that. It was too easy just to twist the knife a little.

We'll have a gay old time

2006-11-03T13:31:00.000-05:00

And from the "here we go again" file...

COLORADO SPRINGS, Colorado (CNN) -- The president of the National Association of Evangelicals resigned Thursday after accusations by a male prostitute that the pastor paid him for sex over three years.

The Rev. Ted Haggard said he also is temporarily stepping aside from the pulpit of his church in Colorado Springs pending an internal investigation by the church.

The church official who temporarily has assumed Haggard's post said late Thursday that there has been "some admission of guilt," but not to all of the allegations. He did not give any more details....

Church members who spoke with The Associated Press were stunned. "It's political, right before the elections," said longtime member Brian Boals, according to AP. Another, E.J. Cox, 25, told AP the claims are "ridiculous."
"People are always saying stuff about Pastor Ted," she told AP. "You just sort of blow it off. He's just like anyone else in the public eye."

The Rev. Ross Parsley, now the church's acting senior pastor, told reporters Thursday night that Haggard has made a partial admission after the allegations surfaced on a Denver radio station. "There has been some admission of indiscretion, not an admission to all of the material that has been discussed, but there is an admission of some guilt," said Parsley, the New Life Church associate senior pastor....

Amid the furor over the allegations, Haggard received support from another prominent religious conservative leader, James Dobson, founder of Focus on the Family, also based in Colorado Springs.

"It is unconscionable that the legitimate news media would report a rumor like this based on nothing but one man's accusation," Dobson said in a written statement issued before Haggard's leave was announced.

"Ted Haggard is a friend of mine, and it appears someone is trying to damage his reputation as a way of influencing the outcome of Tuesday's election -- especially the vote on Colorado's marriage-protection amendment, which Ted strongly supports," Dobson said.

Yeah, forget about the fact that the Christian church in America is about to take another black eye; this is all about the elections. Geez Louise.

Ted, if you are reading this, let me tell you something- you had better be telling the truth. Don't deny the story, and then admit to some unnamed "indiscretion", and then have the world find out that, in fact, the whole thing was true. Don't start blaming the "liberal media"; don't come on TV and make a tearful confession and play on people's sympathies; just tell the truth right from the start. If you are truly a follower of the Lord, who said "I am the way, the truth, and the life" (and although it isn't my place to say, I believe you are), then TELL THE FREAKING TRUTH!!!

Enough already!

______________________________

Jesus i love You, but i don't understand Your wife
she wears such funny makeup and she always wants to fight
every time i turn my back she's waiting with a knife
in my world of black and gray she argues shades of white

she loves capital punishment and nuclear arms
then screams about the right to life and the grand old party's charms
she's always burning bridges even the one she's standing on
when i try to tell her she says "to You i don't belong

you always hear her make a plan and you're listening once more
i know everything Your bride's against but i don't know what she's for
so don't mistake my anger for bitterness and strife
because on bended knees i'm begging You please
Jesus talk to Your wife

Jesus i love You, but i don't understand Your wife
so please, please talk to Your wife
---Dead Artist Syndrome, "The Bride Song"

These are a few of my favorite things

2006-10-27T07:04:00.000-04:00

I spent a lot of time on the EWTN website yesterday. If you haven't been there, follow the link- it is a veritable treasure trove of all things Catholic. After all of the Titus Chu brouhaha, I felt the need to reconnect with the things I believe. And although I read books all across the spectrum, and derive benefit from most of them, ultimately the truths that I hold to be self-evident are simple- I believe in one God, the Father, Almighty... I believe in Jesus Christ, His only Son, Our Lord... I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life... I believe in one, holy, Catholic and apostolic church.

Part of the EWTN site is a huge library of their programming, both television and radio, just audio versions. It's a great source of apologetics material. And as I loaded 12GB of EWTN programming onto my hard drive, I thought about favorite books of mine. My shelves are loaded with books, I have books on top of books, and books in the attic in boxes, but there are a select number that are exempt from the attic treatment and will always have a place on the shelf of any place that I call home.

Rome, Sweet Home by Scott and Kimberly Hahn is one of those books. This is the story of their conversion to the Catholic Church and the avenues they took to get there. I first stumbled upon Scott Hahn in the late 80's, during a guest appearance on the Mother Angelica Live program. He gave an abbreviated version of his testimony and I found it very compelling. At the end of the show they flashed a toll-free number on the screen where you could get the tape of his that was making the rounds (which is now simply known as THE TAPE). Free is good, and the tape became mine, one more step on the road for me.

But not the first step. In 1988 I was about to enter my second year at Bowling Green State University. Before leaving for the fall semester I went book shopping, and one of my stops was a small store in Elyria known as The Search. The Search was a Catholic bookstore, and I wasn't Catholic at the time, but they carried Thomas Merton titles and Merton was, is and always will be THE MAN. I browsed the selections and one title caught my eye. I had never heard of the author, Karl Keating, but the title caught my fancy- Catholicism vs Fundamentalism: The Attack on Romanism by Bible Christians. Hmm. And it looked like it might have some meat to it, too- it didn't have large print and it had no pictures :) I placed my $12.95 on the counter, plus 6% sales tax, and walked out with it.

Oh, man. What a book. Karl Keating may be relegated to the back of the apologetics bus these days by the young guns who speak sharply and carry an arrogant stick, but Keating started the new emphasis on Catholic apologetics. Without Catholicism and Fundamentalism there is no Envoy magazine, there is no St. Joseph's Communications, Scott Hahn probably stays a professor at a small Catholic college in Illinois, and Catholics the world over continue to cower whenever someone asks them why they call their priest "Father". This is a very readable book which covers specific organizations and their objections to Catholicism in part one, the Scriptural support for Catholic teaching in part two, and apologetics resources in part three. If you are going to start an apologetics library on a limited budget, this is the first book to get.

Another good testimony book to get would be My Life On The Rock by Jeff Cavins. Jeff used to host Life On The Rock on EWTN, hence the name. You might think that testimony books would all tread the same water, but that isn't the case. Where Scott Hahn's book concentrates on theological matters, all the while with a personal touch, the Cavins book is a little more personal with theology on the passenger's side.

Radio Replies by Fathers Leslie Rumble and Charles Carty is a three volume set of questions and answers concerning Catholicism, which were submitted to the authors' radio show in the 40's. As such, there are a few answers which are a little dated, but there are a lot more answers which are right on the money. The print is small, and some of the answers are a little involved, but it serves its purpose as a mini encyclopedia of apologetics, organized by topic.

On the other side of the coin, there are two books that I like which purport to contain the answers to Catholicism's "outlandish" claims. Evangelical Answers by Eric Svendsen and The Roman Catholic Controversy by James White are interesting in that they have unique arguments; they aren't just cold leftovers from a cursory reading of Lorainne Boettner's Roman Catholicism (a large book which is horrible). I obviously disagree with the conclusions of these books, but I find them valuable just the same. It is better to hear the other side of an argument straight from primary sources and not just what someone thinks they said.

Check out these websites for more information on these books:
Scott Hahn
Karl Keating
Jeff Cavins
Radio Replies
Eric Svendsen
James White

The Pardoner's Tale

And this is it

90 – Miracle Mile- Guardian

91 – Chagall Guevera S/T

92 – Murder By Pride- Stryper

93 – The Last Temptation- Alice Cooper

94 – Revelation- Darrell Mansfield Band

95 – Struggle- Six Feet Deep

96 – Face The Music- Mylon LeFevre and Broken Heart

97 – Revival- David Mullen

98 – West Coast Diaries volume II- Charlie Peacock

99 – Apostolic Prayers- IHOP Worship Team

100 – Day of Fire S/T

My Top 100 Favorite Christian Albums

Evelyn

Why do we do what we do

Grandpa Mac

Oremus

Who are you, hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, But Names Will Sway an Election

Destroy property

Defy authority

Take me out to the ballgame

To Erin, in response to a Facebook post which I felt was particularly egregious (featuring copious use of asterisk-masked profanity)

Out to find the better part

What’s so Good about it?

?

Tired

I’ve got that joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart

From each one according to his ability, to each one according to his need

Imagine

(No witty Lenten reflection booked)

To Emily, Wherever I May Find Her

WWJD

A Man I’ll Never Be

The Man I Want To Be

To Be A Man

Now that I have your attention

Grace

The Pro-Choice Movement is not

The Passion of the Christ

Lo These 40 Days of Lent

The Old Boy's Club

Why I am not now nor will I ever be a part of the U.S. Military

Notes on a lost civilization (or: How I learned to stop worrying and love grocery shopping)

All I need to know in life I still know from listening to Kiss

A

Twenty-Five

Talk To Me

For Cathy

When real life has other plans for you

In the days of my youth

A Father's Story

Speaking In Tongues

Who are you/ What have you sacrificed?

Objects in mirror are closer than they appear

Reunited

Calling you out

Guilty By Association- the response

Guilty by association

STOP! MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS!

Afternoon Lee-ite

Visions of Johanna

Out of Sync

Hmmm….Interesting

What Dave signed up for

What If His People Prayed? (for 2007)

They keep dragging me back in

Mac Attack

Christ Getting In Shape For Second Coming

Nobody Told Me There’d Be Days Like These

All I needed to know in life I learned from listening to KISS

Make his paths straight

JESUS CHRIST: THE ROLLING STONE INTERVIEW Pt. 5

JESUS CHRIST: THE ROLLING STONE INTERVIEW Pt. 4

JESUS CHRIST: THE ROLLING STONE INTERVIEW Pt. 3

JESUS CHRIST: THE ROLLING STONE INTERVIEW Pt. 2

JESUS CHRIST: THE ROLLING STONE INTERVIEW Pt. 1

Top 5 Blog Posts of 2006

A Question of Racism