Monday, December 29, 2008

"As an atheist, I truly believe Africa needs a God"

Atheist Matthew Parris from London's The Times says that Christian missionaries - not government or world aid efforts - are the answer to the Africa problem:

Now a confirmed atheist, I've become convinced of the enormous contribution that Christian evangelism makes in Africa: sharply distinct from the work of secular NGOs, government projects and international aid efforts. These alone will not do. Education and training alone will not do. In Africa Christianity changes people's hearts. It brings a spiritual transformation. The rebirth is real. The change is good.

I used to avoid this truth by applauding - as you can - the practical work of mission churches in Africa. It's a pity, I would say, that salvation is part of the package, but Christians black and white, working in Africa, do heal the sick, do teach people to read and write; and only the severest kind of secularist could see a mission hospital or school and say the world would be better without it. I would allow that if faith was needed to motivate missionaries to help, then, fine: but what counted was the help, not the faith.

But this doesn't fit the facts. Faith does more than support the missionary; it is also transferred to his flock. This is the effect that matters so immensely, and which I cannot help observing.


Read the article

Friday, December 26, 2008

Oh Wait NO

After posting that previous quote followed by the picture of the puppy, I realized it came right after a picture of my cat, Spotty. In just glimpsing at the blog, it appears as though this is one of those, "guy/girl-takes-pictures-of-cute-domestic-animals-blog."

This is to inform you that it is not.

I mean, it will not be in the future, because it kind of is now.

I'll hold off for a while. I promise I'll come back with some witty entry in the next few days that will make you want to come back.

The Cost of Forgiveness

"...forgiveness is free and unconditional to the perpetrator, but it is costly to you...if the wrongdoer has to do something to merit it, then it isn't mercy, but forgiveness always comes at a cost to the one granting the forgiveness."

-Tim Keller, The Prodigal God, p. 83

It may seem trite and obvious, but this statement has more weight when you are faced with the decision to forgive or not. When you're there, come back to this quote for a wake-up. Or if you think you have forgiven, check yourself with this.

And then look at this puppy holding a stuffed animal:

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Snow Daze


Well, if you are anywhere in the Portland Oregon Metro area you know that large amounts of cold white stuff have left us to hibernate in our houses and not shower for days.

I have found my mind operating completely differently under these snowy conditions. For example, instead of thinking about all that I have to do the next day before going to sleep, I simply fall asleep assuming I won't do a single thing the next day. And during the day I make a lot of excuses to not do things. Such as: Better not take out the trash, it's snowing right now or, I can't feed the cat on a day like today! These excuses have led me to take a good look at my life and wonder how great of an effect the weather has on my humanity. I feel like a monkey.

Beyond this, I keep thinking about all of the things I would be doing. Like spending tons of money on things people I don't like don't need (Christmas shopping).

But I'm trying to keep a positive outlook and await for what my local news has called "The Arctic Blast" to deliquesce (look that one up, nerds). I'm losing track of what day it is and that never happens. I'm starting to see visions of Jack in "The Shining" as me, but then I just realize it's the old cream cheese I ate for breakfast.

The great part about being snowed in is you don't have to make any excuses to do leisurely activities. Two of my favorites are reading and watching ABC Family. So far I've caught "Home Alone," "The Family Man," "Home Alone 2: Lost in New York," and "Elf," "Cars," and a good amount of Home Improvement. You know what, I shouldn't post that list, it is quite sad...but it is snowing.

I read The Curious Case of Benjamin Button in preparation for the movie coming on Christmas Day. I've been sifting through some other Fitzgerald short stories, although he was never really fond of them. He was right to an extent, his novels are much better. I finished Keller's The Prodigal God as well as the book of Amos. For the Advent season I have loved reading Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus, which is a compilation of the best Christmas writings by classic preachers and theologians as well as contemporary pastors and scholars. Great and beautiful stuff. From Saint Augustine: "Do not follow the current of the flesh. For this flesh is indeed a current; for it has none abiding." There's more where that came from. For my scholarly palette, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses has been rocking my world. For those of you who doubt Jesus ever walked the earth or even existed, or if you doubt the accuracy of the Christian gospels, please give that book a chance. I think it puts most skeptics to rest and will most likely prove to be the most important book in the field of Biblical historicity.

The novel Home is perfect for these days, slow but uniquely suspenseful, it is purely character and setting driven. And I love Marilynne Robinson. And when I want to read something easy I've always got Hornby's collection of his monthly contribution to The Believer magazine. It is consistantly funny and incredibly informative. He's just a really smart guy but totally not an ass. Rare!

Anyways, due to my boredom I will not only post all of this for other bored people to read, but I will also give you a pictorial glimpse into the last two days.


Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

There's Just No Way

The title to this video on YouTube is "Dude transports 22 bricks on his head." Both accurate and amusing. By the way, you're welcome!

9 Year-Old Pimp Writes Book

This is an interview with the pimp Alec Greven, who recently wrote a book entitled, "How to Talk to Girls." My roommate John asked me where I think the kid will be in a couple of years. I think after he writes "How to Talk to Your Mom," he may go into rehab or get arrested or both. He's just too good to be true.

Monday, December 1, 2008

2008 Word of the Year

Webster's Word of the Year 2008: Overshare

Sunday, November 30, 2008

Happy Birthday Clive Staples Lewis


It is quite rare that someone lives such a full and impacting life, that the general public wonders whether or not the world in which we live in would be the same had that person never lived. While many have not read the primary texts of C.S. Lewis, it can be argued that western thought would not be the same had Lewis not lived. I'm not going to sit here and write why I would agree with that, but I will say I need to devote a post to this somewhat insignificant blog, to honor the birth date of this great man and thinker.

Not only did he change and solidify western thought in philosophy and theology, but the guy lived a long life straight up rocking the middle name "Staples." I went through a season of my life where I was committed to naming my firstborn son, "Needles," but could not bank on the fact that he would be as cool as Clive Staples. It takes a very special and quite rare individual to rock a name like Staples, and beyond rocking that name, writing some of the best literature we have access to as human beings.

He was born on this day in 1898.

"Those who are enjoying something, or suffering something together, are companions. Those who enjoy or suffer one another, are not."

-That Hideous Strength, p. 148

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

The "World's Best Writer of Prose"

Marilynne Robinson is the author of Gilead, which won the 2005 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. It is my favorite book. Not just for the subject matter, but Robinson doesn't write like anyone. It's tough to draw comparisons. In 30 years, she has written three novels, and each one has a distinctly different voice.

I just started her newest book, Home, and Googled (when will that word be added to the Dictionary?) her to see what people are saying. I ran into Bryan Appleyard writing for Britain's The Sunday Times who wrote titled his profile, "Marilynne Robinson: world's best writer of prose." Appleyard's point is that Robinson is the greatest current writer of prose. I'm pretty sure I agree, I haven't read anything better that's come out recently. It's a great article, but read Robinson first. Here's Appleyard's great closer:

Now let me be clear - I’m not saying that you’re actually dead if you haven’t read Marilynne Robinson, but I honestly couldn’t say you’re fully alive.
This post is nothing more than to get you to pick up Gilead and read it. It is definitely not a book that everyone will read or like, because it's not a memoir and not written by a twenty-something urbanite. Robinson is six-four and almost as old as dirt, but her prose in and of itself is timeless. She has no trend or style that she follows or that others can follow, rather she is in that unique category of writing that my professors call classic, not popular.

Monday, November 10, 2008

How Embarrassing, They Wore the Same Color Tie and, Wait, Are They Holding Hands?

From the Associated Press:

An Interruption

I was just answering emails in the atrium of our church when I heard something that I can only describe by incorporating the word "stampede."

What came storming by me, inside my church, was a herd of pregnant middle aged pregnant women running/speed walking with their strollers through the foyer of our church.

The babies were crying and the leader of the pack was in the front, calling out inspirational female battle cries. Before I could think about what was really happening, and whether or not I was dreaming or not, they were gone. I will never see them again.

What? Maybe I am dreaming. Hopefully.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

To Make You Laugh

Please give yourself the pleasure of taking a stroll through The Onion online newspaper today.

Some notable headlines to inspire you:

"Black Man Given Nation's Worst Job"

"Obama Win Causes Obsessive Supporters To Realize How Empty Their Lives Are"

Plus, political opinion by Lyle Dixon: "What In The Heck's A Barack Obama?"

Enjoy and you're welcome.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Election Day and What Comes With It


While today may be one of America's most historic days, I am still more excited for the fact that Starbucks is launching its great political campaign: Christmas. Anyone who knows me well knows that I love Starbucks during Christmas. I love red cups. I see them and I can just taste peppermint in my mouth, and I can almost smell Grandma's Christmas tree. Oh Grandma...

As they say, every end is really a beginning. And to me, when this election is said and done and I never hear Jeff Merkley's name again, Christmas will be just beginning. A new season.

Beyond Starbucks, I'm looking forward to the study I am about to do over the next couple of weeks on Christmas; tracing both the western phenomenon we celebrate today, and hopefully trying to track down "the real meaning of Christmas" as Charlie Brown and friends would propose. We'll see what happens, I still need to find better books.

Putting my consumeristic dreams aside, today will be great, whatever happens. But seriously, I have to write about 5 pages on Vladimir Nabokov if I want to watch the race later tonight. It's almost as good as professional football...almost. Hey, Chris Matthews is way better than John Madden.

Seasons Greetings.

Monday, November 3, 2008

On the Eve of Such a Historic Election, Let's Forget About It For a Second

A friend gave me this article; it's both quality and humorous because it's all true.

From Portland Monthly Magazine:
IF THE ICONIC 1996 film Swingers taught us anything, it was this: When abandoned by their significant others, men transform into moping, unshaven, pathetic messes. Such is life for fans of the Seattle SuperSonics, who, this summer, watched their beloved team elope to Oklahoma City with new owner Clay Bennett, leaving the city without an NBA team for the first time in four decades. We can still hear the whining. She was the one. Remember 1979? The title? Life is meaningless now. Still, as the NBA season kicks off, it’s inevitable that many Seattle fans will be looking to rebound with the Trail Blazers. (After all, Portland’s roster is loaded with promising young talent and a front office committed to a steady, long-term relationship with its fans.) We need to be ready to accept them. So here we offer a few tips for how to tread gently around Sonics ex-pats as they swallow their pride and learn to love again.
Read the whole thing.

Friday, October 31, 2008

This Is What Halloween Does To You


Americans are so weird. How consumeristic can we get? I'm no exception, believe me, this is no elitist rant, I bought a scarf I didn't really need yesterday and I had pizza delivered to my door.

But this season is so funny. While I was running yesterday, I couldn't help but notice the exterior Halloween home decor. I normally try to pray when I run, or just think about blessings, but I've got to admit all the crap in people's lawns really distracted me. Why on earth do you need spend $24.99 on a cauldron? It's a cauldron. When else are you going to get the cauldron out? Ok, if it were a real cauldron, different story, but they're plastic.

It's like mom came home after dropping the kids off at school, locked her car, and in the autumn air she looked at her house she calls home and thought, "You know what, this needs something." And all day she thought about it but just couldn't figure out that missing piece to the exterior of her house. But after long enough mental deliberation she said got it.

So later, kids get back from school, Dad comes home, and mom is done making the meatloaf and looks to her family, her kin, and says.

"You guys, you know what that front lawn needs? A cauldron."

After the pause; "I mean, I know this house is beautiful, and I know it keeps us warm, but we really need a freaking cauldron out there."

The funny thing is that if it really happened this way it would make so much more sense. Even worse, we don't even reason with it in our brains, we just buy it and don't question it. We just walk into Freddy's and we grab the paper towels, the milk, and some more cereal, and then we buy a huge cauldron for the front yard. A freaking cauldron.

I was at Fred Meyer yesterday buying some gum, when the guy behind me threw down the divider, and after the divider a pair of bunny ears.

I looked up at him and he quickly raised his eye brows up and then down. He was most likely single and appeared to be almost 30. Oh, and he was buying fake bunny ears to put on his head all while getting totally smashed. Bunny ears. I know that guy was looking around Fred Meyer thinking, "I'm totally going to get smashed tomorrow night, but I can't just get drunk like this..." and then he saw them. Yeah, I need me some bunny ears.

God Bless America.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

I'm Not an Artist, But I Did Sweat A Little

NOTE: I wrote this at 7:46 am.

Do you ever wonder if those guys who are alone blowing leaves in the city are paid by anyone?

They seem to just wander and blow leaves into the street or some back alley. I rarely see them with some type of uniform. Even a graphic polo would do the trick.

Anyways.

My Understanding Theater class is largely made up of wannabe actors, circus freaks, and people just trying to fill their fine arts credit. The first day was fun, but at that time I hadn't realized my professor's capabilities of weirding me out.

She's done a lot of things over the last four weeks that push my eyes to the floor and my hand to my forehead, but it's mainly things other people do - just amplified because she's "an artist," to quote her majesty.

So I've just been trying to scrape by, doing every assignment during her lecture and writing play reviews in under thirty minutes. And I've been doing fine. High marks, no complaints - I've been flying under the radar. Until yesterday.

Now, before I take account for this interaction, I want to tell you I've written this poorly because I've done what writers call, "rising descriptive suspense," which includes telling small pieces of information about a character and/or a situation that will affect the scene to come. I want to warn you, this really wasn't all that grand, but it affected me nonetheless, so shut up.

We were done with our "mid-term," which was a 30 question reading exam which I swear she handed to us last week. All the same questions. All the same answers. It took 12 minutes for the class to be lined up and waiting to receive our "reading journals" back (don't get me started...a reading journal? I swear I enrolled in a University).

I'm about seven people back, and when it comes time for me to turn in my test she hands me a play review I did before my journal.

"This was excellent," she remarked sincerely.

"Oh, thank you," I said with hesitation. Excellent is a little strong.

"You have a wonderful way with words, are you a writer?" She asked.

"I am when you tell me to be," I fired back.

"Well I'm telling you to be."

"-"

What? I couldn't tell what was going on so I let the silence hang and pushed my eyes to the floor. She said this with her head somewhat bowed and her eyes lurching forward out of the tops of her glasses. It her tone was not stern, but sort of - I really don't have a better word - sexual?

"Do you have my reading journal?" my nervous laugh forced out.

"Yes," she said. "I think you're capable of more with this. You did a wonderful job, but in reading your review I think you're capable of more in your journal. Ask more questions. Give more insight into the reading. I think you can do just a bit more. Make the text alive!"

By this time there was a long line of people behind me waiting to get their reading journal and a sucker. Her last remark locked me up and I ran out of clever things to say. I took my journal and was walking away mumbling some type of thanks to her when I heard her exclaim, "Wonderful!" is a bird-like cry.

I didn't turn around to see if the exclamation was for me, because at that time I was escaping from Alcatraz for all I cared.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Chasing Daylight Infomercial

I got paid to do this. My church (Rolling Hills Community in Tualatin OR) just recently launched a church-wide program for small groups and sermon series based off of Erwin McManus' book, "Chasing Daylight." Here's how we promoted it to the whole church.

Even if you think church/Christianity/God/Jesus whatever is lame, you should still watch it...

Clown Hall vs. Town Hall



However you feel about Clinton, his wife, their family, his legacy...whatever, I just think we all need to look at how someone should really rock a town hall meeting. Has anyone done this format better than Billy?

Friday, October 3, 2008

Needless to Say, I Left in Bewilderment

So it's back to school again. My third college. It's not fun getting to know a new campus, let alone new graduation requirements. Luckily, there's no culture shock like what came at SPU and Multnomah. SPU was the simple shock of being on a floor of 40 other guys who were totally different from each other. And also handling the massive amounts of male nudity. Culture shock. Multnomah was the total shock of realizing that ministry has become a "fall-back" career option. Hearing the guy next to me in chapel say, "I wasn't really good at math or science, and English was boring, so I thought, 'hey, I like Jesus, why no be a pastor?!'" was needless to say both disappointing and sickening. Yeah! why not be a pastor?! Totally! I don't know if these were the kind of guys the apostle Paul was looking for to lead his churches.

But these things are beside the purpose of me beginning to write. I had the strangest first class period this past week. It was Tuesday.

I arrived on time to my class entitled, "The English Novel," which to me seemed like it would be a great compliment to my major, which is...English. Anyways, we're all sitting there just waiting for our professor to show up, right? And then all of a sudden it's been over five minutes past the start of class. At 10 minutes, everyone can leave...that's the standard rule at Universities, I think.

Around minute seven I smelled something.

I turned around and there was a hunched over bum walking into the classroom. But he is not a bum. Is this him? Well, this will be a great year...I wonder if he washes windows or plays guitar poorly? Everyone quieted down and watched him saunter up to the front of the class. The room became incredibly quiet.

He spoke. Loudly.

"Your professor loves you very much and is terribly sorry." His tone was bold, but somewhat groggy, and his voice sounded a lot like the damp, dirty brown long coat he had around his shoulders.

He began passing out pieces of white paper saying, "Here is your syllabi, your professor couldn't make it, so please take one of these and have a great day."

After this, Bummy gave up passing the syllabus out and just set them on the desk. The room still absolutely silent.

One brave student called out, "Is there any homework."

"Read as much Wuthering Heights as possible."

"How much?" another student questioned.

He just stared at her. Frightening. Is this how I die?

The tension broke when he broke the staring contest and looked over all of us as he exited and said, "Read as much Wuthering Heights as possible. Good day!"

Before I could question if I was on Punk'd or not, he was gone.

Crafty little minx.

The whole room was all the more silent until a student in the front of the classroom looked back at the rest of us.

"What the f---?"

He spoke for all of us.

Friday, September 26, 2008

On a Westbound Plane

I found this when I was digging through my hard drive, trying to delete as much as I could in order to free up what is now very valuable space. I wrote this on my way home from my trip to Washington D.C. surrounded by sleeping people, some with mouths hanging wide open. If I had M&M's I would have been too occupied to have written this, alas I was without the treats.

I am extremely tired right now, but wanted to write about this last week before I start work again. I worked today for a bit, and am somewhat not looking forward to the week ahead. There are so many things to figure out, so many issues that have to be resolved, and so many meetings I have to attend and look good for. I wonder what percentage of people never once dread going to work. Because most of the time I look forward to my job. I mean, it beats a lot of things, and some of you may be saying, "What the hell is this guy complaining about?" I've got an office, I get to preach, teach, encourage, be encouraged, talk about Jesus, and on top of it get paid really well for a single guy. I wouldn't say I'm complaining as much as I am dreaming. Dreaming about other possibilities of where I could be and what I could be doing. Because for as awesome and dreamy as my job is, it often feels like I am accomplishing nothing.

There's not much to say about this, but when I worked for Otto's Sausage Kitchen and Meat Market. I made sausage, I sold sausage, and I would cook sausage, and at the end of the day, it was just sausage. Most of the work I do is ambiguous. And even when I complete something I can look at and explain, it's only temporary.

Like sermons. Sermons are incredibly strange. I prepare about 3-6 hours for every 45-minute long sermon. Sometimes it's a lot longer, it really depends what I'm teaching and for how long, but nevertheless, it takes a butt-load of time.*

But then, after completing a manuscript and notes to go with it, as well as some oral preparation (all things I can look at and show people), I deliver it to any number of people.

And then its over.

I mean, some of them are recorded, but most of the time they're gone after that. Hours and hours of preparation and you can only hope that the hearers of the Word react, respond, and are changed in some way. Because I'm not a celebrity preacher. I'm a shepherd. Local and with a small flock. So with no audience outside of those in my spiritual family, these works simply evaporate in 30-45 minutes and only pages of notes on a manuscript are left.

I've heard this analogy: that a teacher is like a pitcher and his students are batters. They chose whether to swing, bunt, watch it go by, or simply never step up to the plate. But this analogy is weak, because I never feel what the pitcher feels: that split second pang of nervousness as he waits to see what the batter will do. I am blind to the batter. I have no idea whether he's taking his best swing at a fastball or if he's picking his butt in the dugout. For as much as I talk to the people who listen to me, I can't get to everyone. Besides, some people don't even want to talk, they just want to sit and listen. And some act engaged and will speak to you and give you the answers you want to hear, but there's some type of dishonesty in their tone. Most of the time, I can't see an inch of the batter.

Bad analogy.

I keep doing it though, and while I'm writing this, I find myself procrastinating the completion of a sermon for our men's retreat.

Back to work.


*A butt-load is just a rough estimate of time consisting of how much load a butt can take.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

When Things Start

She just left and now I'm left with what's left.

School.

Everything's starting and I've got to get my rear in gear. I feel like the protagonist in O the Places You'll Go by the Seuss, sans acid trip. I'm pumped for being an English major again and excited for what God will do with the ministry and the church. I felt fall in the air today as Ali and I walked around downtown and it reminded of great aspects of the season.

I love it when the seasons change. I love this time of year and I adore April and May for the same reasons. But fall has a different tenor, it holds in it a reminder that everything, even the most beautiful, perishes in its unique luster.

For today, Frost can tell us what's to come in a couple of days (I just couldn't wait):
"October" by Robert Frost
O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if the were all,
Whose elaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--
For the grapes' sake along the all.


Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Oh My Frick

Just when you thought Nader couldn't get any weirder...

Friday, September 12, 2008

Things I Have Read

From Proverbs 26:

"It is the glory of God to conceal things,
but the glory of kings is to search things out."

"Americans never think of themselves as sharing fully in the human condition, and therefore beset as all humankind is beset."
-Marilynne Robinson

"Try to understand the Triune God, and you will lose your mind. Deny the effort to discover the Triune God, and you will lose your soul."
-St. Augustine

"I believe that there is one story in the world, and only one, that has frightened and inspired us...Humans are caught - in their lives, in their thoughts, in their hungers and ambitions, in their avarice and cruelty, and in their kindness and generosity too - in a net of good and evil. I think this is the only story we have and that it occurs on all levels of feeling and intelligence...There is no other story. A man, after he has brushed off the dust and chips of his life, will have left only the hard, clean questions: Was it good or was it evil? Have I done well - or ill?"

-John Steinbeck

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

I Don't Like Christianity

This is how much I love Jesus: that, after seeing this, I can still claim to love the same God they love. That is really how good God is.

Ugh.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Some [Un]Important Notes

What am I going to do when I come home from work now that the never-aging Bob Costas has stopped complaining about China on NBC? He brilliantly weaved his disdain for being there with the victory of the USA in those games. I miss it all.

But I had the Democratic National Convention to laugh at this week. Politicians are so fun to watch at times. They are almost as funny as the commentators. Quick note: Is it not crass to compare Barack Obama to John Kennedy, Abraham Lincoln, and Henry V...? Seems a bit morbid, but those are not my comparisons, talk to Al Gore and Chris Matthews about that.


Also, does anyone see McCain making a great ventriloquist (OMG I spelled that word correctly on my first try!) and Biden sitting on his lap as the puppet?

Better ticket huh? The campaign stops would be a hit.

I also need to tell you that the people who put all their hope and aspiration for greatness into one politician are just stupid. Ok, that was harsh, but they're just searching. And it's so plain in this arena I guess. The race is just about the best of two crap shoots in my opinion.

I hit a bird today...with my car...that has never happened to me before.

I think it was a crow.

Frightening.

Monday, August 25, 2008

The American Dream

Putting gold around your neck. Twelve times. I'm so excited for this season.


In case you're stupid, the man in the middle wearing all the gold around his neck is assistant Team USA basketball coach Nate McMillan, who is also the head coach of the Portland Trail Blazers, the basketball team which resides in my hometown.

[Thanks to trailblazerscentercourt.blogspot.com for pointing to the picture.]

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

The Bank of Opprotunity


I just had to deposit a check.

I turned my car off and placed my hand into the crevasse between the door handle and the door itself, and as I pushed I heard a bird. No, never mind not a bird, a man laughing. It was a raspy laugh, like that of an old drunk, and lo and behold that's exactly what it was. 8:23 AM. A drunk. Lovely.

I rotated to see where the sound was coming from because within all of these small seconds I was still having the bird vs. man debate pumping through my head. My overall conclusion was right as I finished rotating all the way to the right to see an old man laughing. But not just that, he was pointing. And he wasn't lazily pointing as you might imagine a drunk this early in the morning would do, but he had a firm point, like a beak. His nostrils were flared and his mouth was wide with delight. I quickly looked around to see if I saw anything laughable. That telephone pole behind me is sort of fun-

His laugh is loud.

"What's up bro?" I asked cordially. Don't startle him, he may become agitated.

"Your car got shat on!" he yelled.

Oh my.

I looked at my car, and I guess one could use that terminology to describe the situation that sat atop my car. I had parked under a tree that apparently didn't care for my taste in a black two-door from '95. I looked at my car for a while and then back at the bum, his eyes slowly shutting and then opening while his laugh faded.

"Oh...yeah," I said with a lackluster voice. I wasn't sure what to do, I sort of laughed a bit.

"You think that's bad..." he started to say. This never ends well..."you should see what that crap does to your face."

I wasn't sure how to take that. Was this a joke or an insult? I laughed because I figured that would suffice as a response to both.

"I slept under one of those trees one night and woke up covered!" He exclaimed. As he was saying this sentence he was getting closer to me and making a face that I suppose was reenacting the morning of his awaking, covered in tree shaz. I can't really use words to do that face justice.

By now, I was standing at the ATM and putting my check in as he and his shopping cart were trying to keep up with my pace. As he came over he began talking of switchboards. When I caught that word I started paying attention. How did we get from the tree's crap on my car to switchboards? I didn't get much out of it except the words, "My mother...the Chinese...two timing" and "good hickory" or something like that. I was sort of getting tired of playing this game (as I always do after a while) so I decided to go with an enduring closing statement:

"Well, stay away from those trees man."

As he heard this he looked at me like I was crazy. And he slowly bent over a bit and stuck his head out and forward and his arms wide open as he said, "I have been staying away from them, I'm telling YOU to stay away from them."

Touche. And then I decided that would be the last time I'm outsmarted by a drunk bum.

Monday, August 18, 2008

The Gospel

I was preparing for a sermon I'm giving tomorrow for the International Medical Team chapel service when I ran across this summation of the gospel I did for a member of our church. Any issues? I need to give it another good look, but here it is:
There is one God, and he existed before existence. He created heaven and earth and everything in it that is good. He created us, man and woman, in his likeness to worship him. He did not create you for a good job, to make money, or be healthy. He designed you to worship. The question is not, “Do I worship?” but rather, “What do I worship?” In designing us to worship and also crafting us in His image, our purpose is to worship the Creator.

However, we chose not to worship him, but to worship things he created. Everything from ourselves to trees to romance to violence. This is rebellion. We knew what we were designed to do, and we do not do it. The Bible calls it sin. You love yourself more than God and you look to you more than to the One who made you. This separates us from this Holy God. Sin is ultimately destructive and leads to death, and since heaven and God are full of life and perfection, we cannot enter and live with God in harmony.

So God sent his Son Jesus Christ, who was fully God and fully man. He was born from a virgin, Mary. He lived a 33 yearlong perfect life, even though he was tempted in every way. He was accused of our accusation. They said he claimed to be God. That’s what we’ve been doing all along, but when he claimed to be God, we killed him to God's ultimate plan.

He was killed. He died by crucifixion on a cross. When he died he substituted in our place. The wrath of God we were supposed to experience because of our sin was thrown on Christ. On his shoulders were all the sins of the world for those who called on him. That’s my idolatry. Your lust. Her anger. Our pride. Past, present, and future. He paid the debt you were supposed to pay a perfect and Holy God.

Christ’s dead body, his carcass, was laid in a tomb for three days. On a Sunday, Jesus was raised from the grave and claimed victory over Satan, sin, demons, and hell. He walked with those who were witnesses to this for forty days and then, before he left, he commissioned all of them through the Holy Spirit to tell everyone what I just told you. That there is a big God who can do mighty things, but the same God that passionately and relentlessly pursues those who are wicked, who sin, and who fall away from Him. Why? Because it is what will give him the most glory and us the most joy.

And now Jesus is still alive. He did not die again. He rules and reigns over every nation and authority there was is and will be. And one day, when the Father commands, he will return to judge those who ignored the greatest message on the planet: that you can be rescued from death.
I just have to add this little fact along with this: One thing C.S. Lewis and D. Martin Lloyd Jones and others always wrote about what the genre of "the gospel." Duh, it means "good news." So therefore, its genre is "news." The above isn't instruction, song, or fiction. It is news. And within news there is history, narrative, and so forth. So it is important to know that in communicating such "news" it will be proclaimed. News is always proclaimed. Instruction is demonstrated, song is performed, and so on. But news is always proclaimed. Just look at the newspaper. The last headline I saw was this weekend in the Oregonian, "Phelps does it!" There's proclamation. It's telling you the news. Christians tell you the good news because it's news. It's not conversation or instruction, if it were, it would be communicated differently, but it's not. So if "the gospel" sounds a little strong, it is because it is designed that way. This is Good News.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Breaking News: Phelps is a Glutton


This just makes him all the more American. From the New York Post:

"Phelps lends a new spin to the phrase "Breakfast of Champions" by starting off his day by eating three fried-egg sandwiches loaded with cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, fried onions and mayonnaise.

He follows that up with two cups of coffee, a five-egg omelet, a bowl of grits, three slices of French toast topped with powdered sugar and three chocolate-chip pancakes.

At lunch, Phelps gobbles up a pound of enriched pasta and two large ham and cheese sandwiches slathered with mayo on white bread - capping off the meal by chugging about 1,000 calories worth of energy drinks.

For dinner, Phelps really loads up on the carbs - what he needs to give him plenty of energy for his five-hours-a-day, six-days-a-week regimen - with a pound of pasta and an entire pizza.

He washes all that down with another 1,000 calories worth of energy drinks."

Just so you know, the average man should not eat more than 2,000 calories in one day. Phelps does 12,000. The dude swims 17 times in nine days. He literally eats, sleeps, and swims.
My question: how often is he in the bathroom?

Thursday, July 31, 2008

It's Just So Logically Inconsistent I Could Puke!

Thomas Friedman is a smart man. He wrote a book called The World Is Flat and proposed a great thesis within his writing. This is what he had to say:
"Uploading is, without doubt, becoming one of the most revolutionary forms of collaboration in the flat world. More than ever, we can all now be producers, not just consumers."
In case you're dumb, when I transfer what I have written in a little white box to this blog and push "publish," it is called "uploading," just so we're clear. And in the wake of everyone on planet earth becoming a producer, I feel like I must contribute when something this poopy has happened.

Oprah talking about God.

I'd just like to tell you that my problem with her is not the normal evangelical problem. Some evangelicals are complaining about how she's leading people astray with her crazy witch magic. My complaint is that she's stupid.

Ok, I guess I should take that back right away. She's brilliant. I mean, any one who can make as much money and have as much influence as her is smart. I don't know if people with her magnitude happen by accident, but philosophically and theologically, she is retarded. Let me prove it to you.


If you need a quote from Oprah that proves she holds on the the logic I'm about to lay out, just read what she writes or listen to her talk about God.

Oprah doesn't believe that there can be one way to God. I don't know why, but that is what she claims. And many people claim this. One way to God? How can a loving God do that? It seems inconsistent with the idea that he loves us. Exclusivity is a large piece of the Christian doctrine. Jesus, as you've heard it said, is the way the truth and the life, and no one gets to God without placing faith in Him. This is true. I would totally agree with this. Christianity is exclusive, and I'm totally willing to admit that.

What needs to be understood is that Oprah is even more exclusive than me and Jesus. Oprah says that many people can get to God through different ways. You can get to him through Buddah, Vishnu, yourself, and definitely Jesus. But Jesus can't be the only way...that's too exclusive. How can I claim that? How can God claim that?

Her belief is summed up well in this old Buddhist parable I've heard. There's a bunch on blind men and they all approach an elephant. One of them is touching the leg and says, "The elephant is thick and round." And the other is touching the side and says, "The elephant is flat and large." And the last one is touching the trunk and says, "The elephant is long and slender." The message is that they all have different angles and perceptions on the animal, but they all know it's an elephant.

There is a huge problem with this illustrations, and it actually backfires on its users. The whole story and angle is told from a person who is not blind, inferring that the storyteller is enlightened in some special way. How can you know that all the blind men see only a part of the animal unless the mighty all-powerful, all-seeing YOU can claim to be able to see the entire elephant?
"How could you possibly know that no religion can see the whole truth unless you yourself have the superior, comprehensive knowledge of spiritual reality you just claimed that non of the religions have?"
Thank you Tim Keller, from your book The Reason for God.

So don't follow Oprah. Please. Or don't claim that each religion sees part of spiritual truth, but none can see the whole truth. A lot of people do, but in doing so you claim to know everything, being even more exclusive than when I talk about Jesus. At least I tell you I'm exclusive.

God bless America huh?

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Hard to Please

I work at this place called the Swamp. It’s this little house on the edge of the church property, down a small hill on the east side of the massive parking lot. All of the Student Ministry pastors, directors, and interns are shoved away from the real church business. We also drafted our Men’s Ministry Pastor and his secretary, and her dogs. The house is full of things for jr. high and high school students, things like a Wii, an Xbox, or just tons of Frisbees. The Swamp house is encased in old shrubbery and sits on the edge of…well, a swamp. Legend has it that it used to be a pond, and sometimes when I stare at it out my window while I should be working, I think about it having a better time in its existence. Maybe a time when small children could jump in and play without the fear of coming out legless. It was most likely a happy place once. But now that it has been destroyed, youth interns and pastors have been throwing things in it and daring kids to jump in after their parents have signed a waver. The existence of the swamp has created mounds more fun. All things considered, work is normally pretty exciting. There’s always something happening it seems. Whether there’s a game of Wii tennis in the living room or just a fat pup turd on the floor in the basement, something always seems to be glowing at the Swamp.

The problem is I am incredibly bored right now. Why? is a great question. How come I am so bored? Why can’t I try to beat the Wii bowling record? Why don’t I hit oranges in to the swamp? How come I’m not playing “Will it Float?” with kids? Or, why would I not be over-feeding the dog just to see if he actually lays a dirt dragon in the boss’s office? So many options…why am I not satisfied?

Because it’s totally empty around here. Everyone went to high school camp and is either riding the Indiana Jones ride for the fourth time or trying to find the kid who went on it a fifth time. They’re gone, and I couldn’t go all because I’m launching Rolling Hills’s new young adult ministry. Timing was bad, and it sucks I couldn’t go, but I didn’t think it would be this bad. The Swamp lays quiet and I’m getting all of my work done. This isn’t what ministry is about – especially at the Swamp.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

That, and a Pair

"What makes a man?" he asked me.

I didn't know it was me. I was at a table - he was sitting in a large chair, but the question seemed to be pointed to me, or perhaps just a general question for the room to stab at.

When the group at the coffee shop seemed to silently agree to ignore the man, he thought we just couldn't hear him. Louder, then...

"WHAT MAKES A MAN?" he asked again.

My body got warm and my mind rushed to the possibility that he would have some type of weapon and threaten me, pleading with me to give him the answer. I decided I would leave if he asked again and let one of the other sorry patrons answer the complex conundrum.

He decided to think about it a little more with his eyes closed. It was over. The area became calm again and I stopped just pretending I was reading and actually got a couple of pages out of the way.

It wasn't fifteen minutes later when my whole body flinched at the sound of that familiar, questioning voice:

"WHAT MAKES A MAN?"

Someone had to answer him. This guy didn't seem like the type to open a conversation of manhood, it just seemed like he wanted another opinion on the subject. In my thinking, I really couldn't sum up manhood in a nice one-liner. Something like, "A bear fight!" or, "A good beard!" went through my head but I thought I would be ostracized by the community in that back room if something like that came from a specimen like me. I had nothing, what makes a man? I can't answer it, there's far too much pressure right now. I told myself I would leave after this and now I'm simply tra-

"WHAT MAKES A FRICKIN' MAN?"

Finally a petite brunette shoved in a corner quickly said, "Sexual intercourse, now shut up."

She didn't yell it, but there was a forceful tone. That's cleaver...why couldn't I think of that one? I totally get it and its great. I took a fast look at our questioner and he seemed quite satisfied. He was asleep again, but I knew he took the answer to heart. That brunette saved us all and maybe now I could read something, anything really. I'm just glad that she took the honor, I don't know if I could ha-

"WHAT MAKES A MAN?"

Goodbye.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Sunday, June 1, 2008

As Long As We're Being Honest Here


I have this constant fear that one day, when I am least expecting it, I will be hit by a Prius. Those things are so freaking quiet. In the city, there's always noise coming from some construction site or some hooker. I just know I'll be turning the corner and the soft, high-pitched whisper of the Prius will be the last sound I hear before the doctor is asking me my name.

***

Why "doctor," Chris? Wouldn't this cute factoid about yourself be more satisfying to the reader had you died at the summation of the narrative?

No, pretentious snob, because I'm a realist and a Prius could never kill a man, DUH...not even one of my size thank you very much.

Saturday, May 31, 2008

I Was Shot At

I know for a fact that we humans have sick little minds, hearts, and souls. I found this out at an early age when lying was amusing and a person dying was hilarious and often fairly pleasurable. You always feel better about laughing at serious injury because the word, “injury,” almost always infers that the victim will heal. I laughed pretty hard when Beth Gunderson broke her arm after she lost her “knee-pit grip” on the monkey bars. Her bone was sticking out and I remember thinking it was quite horrid, but at the same time found that bone more attractive than anything else happening on the playground.

But this carries over to my adult life. In fact, just yesterday I was cruzin’ (yes, cruzin’) down Lovejoy following a biker when she fell to the ground. She did that fall where you hit the ground twice; one on the initial impact and another off of the ricochet from the first. Her helmet flew off but her embarrassment adrenaline kicked in and she was on the sidewalk before I could get any words out. She was wearing a dress and I stared at her as I passed and she was bleeding all down her leg. I thought about pulling over but just then her friend peddled back to her with concern. I’m glad she had a friend because I was already laughing and it would be bad to be trying to catch my breath from laughter while cleaning the blood off her leg. Who am I kidding? I would never clean the blood off of her leg, that’s gross.

This carnal attitude made me remember this time my best friends and I went TP-ing in jr. high. I think TP-ing is an innate desire grafted into little children. I never had to be told what it was, I just knew what to do when I was looking at a pillar-filled house armed with a roll of toilet paper. Brilliant.

It was me, Alex Cassidy, Adam Mealey, Russell Goodwin, and Clark Henarie. We had seen this house before. In fact, it was on a walk home one day that we all decided that that Friday night we would bombard this poor sap’s house with stuff we whip our butts with.

The next thing I know, it’s Friday night and there I am in front of this stranger’s house. We begin the massacre. Nothing of much substance or to laugh about at first, but I think it was when Adam Mealey put the TP around the Gargoyle’s pelvic region that I let out a giggle. In the middle of my demonic chuckle I heard a door latch. Suddenly, the door was open and I heard God say, “What the hell are you little sh**’s doing?” This wasn’t God, and was in fact a very angry man standing at his doorway…with a shotgun.

Because I was concentrating so hard on the fact that this guy had the power of life and death in his right hand, I really couldn’t answer the very pertinent question he was asking. What the hell WAS I doing? I really could not answer that. I guess I was putting toilet paper all over his house…but that really makes me sound weird. I wish I had a better explanation for it.

“You better run fast,” he somewhat shouted. Good advice. We ran. Hard. But our little 8th grade legs had only made it about ten yards before he yelled again, “Actually wait! I want all your names and phone numbers.” This was a classic trick amongst parents in my neighborhood. They always wanted first and last names with our phone numbers. The impending threat was that they would “let our parents know about the trouble” we were making. I believe I fake names and fake phone numbers to about 25 different adults in Portland. I was prepared to do this again for the Shotgun Man.

But before I could say, “My name is Eugene Balls,” Alex and Adam just booked it. This went against anything we had ever done as a group. Ducks fly together! What were they thinking? I didn’t think at all, I just ran with them and all of a sudden we were all running.

That sprint was the most terrifying sprint of my life thus far. I was waiting for a bullet to hit my rear. I remember sort of thinking, as I heard him load his gun, that it would be kind of cool to get shot right then. Or maybe if Adam got shot…that would be better. If he got shot then I could carry him and tell a great story. Everyone would tell about the time they TP’d their principal and I can just whip out the trump card of TP stories. “We were running and next thing I know, Adam is on the ground, bullet in his leg.” If I were to ever tell a story like that, I would always eliminate all of the “there was’s”, and just use nouns with prepositional phrases. “Adam on the ground, bullet in his leg, I’m next to him, freakin’ out.”

I was totally ready to get hit. What would mom think? She’d better sue. To all of our surprise and delight, he fired his gun with a pffft and no affect on us nor its environment.

B-B gun. What a rookie.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Next Vote Wins

According to The Onion, it appears as though Democratic hopeful Hilary Clinton is proposing the "Next Vote Wins" idea for the approaching primaries.
This is about two weeks old, but I just thought it was great.

p.s. How great would it be to work for The Onion?

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Where I'm Going, I Just May Not Come Back

Tomorrow I leave for Seattle with Johnny Boy to meet our great bro Seany Boy. We'll be attending Sasquatch Music Festival in George, Washington. Needless to say, if you check out the link, you'll know I'm...for lack of a better term, excited.

I recognize the fact that I haven't had any observant, pithy anecdote to tickle your funny bone and that shames me. My hope is that hanging out at Sasquatch would provide me with a multitude of anomalous and witty stories.

I hate cloudy days in the suburbs...I normally don't mind working out here, but today I just want to go home. Why do I love the city so much? Or maybe I just hate the suburbs. Why do I even care?

Well, it's going to be nice to get away from all of it and fall face first into whatever Sasquatch holds. I've found that taking total advantage of my days off by leaving entirely is quite successful. Whenever I'm home I find some excuse to get the loads of work that is always lurking over me in some fashion. When I leave the laptop and books and documents and people behind, I have really one option: chill. So Sasquatch will accomplish that immensely. I've only heard stories, and as long as the guy behind me isn't singing along to "What's the Frequency Kenneth?" toward the back of my hair, I'll make it a good time.

Another bonus of the trip is seeing this one girl while picking up Seany Boy in Seattle.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

"What Must We Do?"

Then they said to him, "What must we do, to be doing the works of God?" Jesus answered them, "This is the work of God, the you might believe in him whom he has sent."

If you don't get who God sent, it was Jesus. Let's just make that clear right from the start. This passage from John 6:28-29 could be one of the most important things Jesus says in his recorded words. His response to the crowd separates him from all other religious ideas then and now.

Isn't this question they ask still pertinent to us today? Even as a follower of Jesus who sits under his authority and word, I ask this question: What must I do? A common prayer is asking God what we should do with our lives, where should we go, what we must accomplish. Our individualistic Western minds surely do not help, and spend a night on any college campus and students are seriously searching for what they should do and are never content with what they are doing.

But Christ doesn't answer the question the way maybe I would have. You see, we are to do something. We are to believe. Why? Because the work of God (the only work that really matters in the end) has been accomplished through Jesus Christ. He is the work of God, he has accomplished what had to be accomplished. He has conquered the darkness, and now, calling us to be lights to the world, we are to push that darkness back by calling on his name: Jesus Christ, the work of God.

Monday, April 21, 2008

Monday Mornings and John 1

It's the root of much evil. It is the sign of the beginning of long suffering. It IS long suffering. It is pain, anguish, and most often depression.

Monday, Monday.

Morning.

I went to bed last night a little disgruntled because I was up late reading Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens, two prominent atheists. They are part of a group of people who are really passionate about what they do NOT believe in. I have to give them credit for being unique.

But that's another entry.

The point is, I was looking at another week, and while this one could prove to be one of the most exciting weeks in a while, tomorrow was Monday and that means another week of school, work, and the drill. You know it, I'm sure.

I finished my small escapade through the Psalms and Isaiah yesterday, so I was thinking about what I would read in my "Daily Bible Reading Time." (Frick, I really don't know what else to call it, so I'll use my grandfather's vocabulary). I went to bed last night and could not stop thinking about the gospel of John. No idea why.

So I read the first three chapters of John a couple times. Just soaking in those first 18 verses and the rest of the sections. The calling of the disciples, the wedding at Cana, prophesy of the temple, and our good buddy Nicodemus.

But in re-reading those first 18 verses I always remember that I am so small. In the beginning, there was the Word. But the Word didn't just sit in the heavens and help us out. He dwelt among us.

The Greek word for "dwelt" actually means to "pitch a tent." Jesus came to us.

Being a minister, I often think I need to get people off of their butts and toward God. But maybe that's not the best thing for me to do. Sure, I can yell at the flock all I want, and I can tell them choose Jesus, choose life, choose truth, but maybe the best thing to do is pray Isaiah's prayer in his 64th chapter for an unrepentant nation:

"O that you would rend the heaven's and come down!"

I should pray like that for our church, for our city, for our nation. I have to stop setting up strategy for how I can get myself to God and how I can get others to God, and start praying that God would come down and wash the city with the blood of the gospel. Because the way people meet God in Scripture is just by surrendering...that's worship.

Sometimes I get scared that the call of the American church is the same call of Isaiah found in chapter 6: that we're going to tell them the good news, but they won't listen or accept any of it, because more and more I'm resonating with Jesus' weeping over Jerusalem at the end of his life in Matthew 23.

"...how often I have longed to gather your children together...but you were not willing."

John 1 give me hope though. My job is not to bring people to God. That is the work of the Spirit. Our battle is not of flesh and blood, but one of spiritual things. He dwelt among us. He came and pitched his tent in flesh, because we could never go and pitch ours in spirit.

The story of the Bible and humanity that is seen over and over again can be stated like this: We sin, God seeks. God is on the move, I need to live like I know he is.

Friday, April 18, 2008

How to Destroy Possible Conversation

She has tried to start a conversation with everyone. I knew I was next.

Her first victim was the art student filming. I laughed inside as she tried to relate. She sold real estate. On her laptop are small inspirational sayings that I can't make out. They look like reminders for her to keep going, to wake up everyday. He was an artist. A similar field, if you can compare a car to a camel - both can get you by. She's fumbling in her tone, but begging for friendship. She has no ring and is alone. The artist is more interested in his laptop screen than her proposal for conversation.

She tries to talk to the guy with the Macbook Air adjacent to the artist. He's interested and they yuk it up about the housing market, but there's only so much to say.

"Interesting window of time," he concludes. And then silence.

It's over. I'm next. I'm trying to shove first century Greek grammar in my head and this woman's going to start talking to me. She has to be over 30 and I look twelve. Maybe she'll ask how Social Studies is going. If she does I have a great Andrew Jackson anecdote I can tell with some pizzaz.

"Are you a student?" she says finally.

Frick.

"Part-time..." I say with a trail.

"What do you do?"

This is my choice. I can shut her down with "Pastor" or intrigue her with "teacher."

"I'm a pastor."

"Oh, interesting." She looks back to her laptop.

"Yeah, it's quite the job..."

Quite the job? What the hell? What does that mean, Quite the job? If "pastor" didn't scare her off, the description that my occupation is "quite the job" is going to push her to dial Child Services. This is why I'm a fumbling evangelist and probably an idiot.

I was packing up and thought how stupid that was. I am always thinking about how I have to get somewhere (when I really don't) or how I really don't want to talk about it (which I do) and I leave with few comments. I do this instead of putting the good news first. It is good news too. It's wonderful news for this lonely, single real estate saleswomen. But I put my schedule before the news.

How is it, that in a city so large and so compact, we are still so lonely?

Next time I'm a teacher.

Friday, March 14, 2008

Square

I stood there like a square. Frick. My whole purpose in buying clothes is, “don’t look like a square.” But nonetheless, here I am at the Streetcar stop, looking like a huge square. Frick.

My common posture in waiting for the Streetcar is that of slightly leaning with the upper half of my body in order to see if the thing is coming. Depending on what I see, I hang back and try not to look like a square. This place is full of squares, but that’s a different story.

As I make my body form into my “Streetcar Stance,” I notice a delicate woman riding her Schwinn bicycle down Lovejoy. She’s wearing a helmet that, at first glace, seems way too large for such a small woman. But she seems content. I’m not studying her, but I am looking at her face. She’s wearing glasses and her curly red hair is sticking out the back of her oversized helmet. I don’t notice anything out of the ordinary, but she notices me looking at her. She just knew she was being watched. Our eyes met for a brief second as she took her eyes off of the road.

Mistake.

Immediately her face turned to one of alarm. At that exact moment I looked down to notice that her front bicycle wheel had fallen into the crevasse of the Streetcar track. There is no way out. In trying to repair the damage that was done she turned her handlebars to the right.

Mistake.

She falls right in front of me, and while looking at me. I watched her glazed eyes look at me as they fell with the rest of her body. She fell fast. Really fast. In fact, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone fall that fast. In a nano second the female was sprawled across the city street right on the top of her Schwinn.

In a panic I rushed to her and didn’t really say anything. I sort of mumbled something like, “Oh…do?…umm…is there…can you?...oh man…hmm…uh yea…” She was an animal. No longer human was this woman as she went into complete survival mode. Her adrenaline pumped her up onto her bike and she sped off down the road, far from the Streetcar tracks.

What a square.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Jesus Has Been Kidnapped!

And there's a hefty ransom...

Monday, March 3, 2008

The Going's On

God is good.

I have a Greek quiz today in which I'll be tested on all words occurring 110 times or more in the New Testament, as well as all forms of "to be."

I spent last week in Seattle at Text & Context Conference. I, more than ever, want to preach the gospel of Christ and teach the Word. Piper is a baller.

I was in Powell's Books for almost two hours reading God's Problem by Bart Ehrman. I loved reading it, and I think I know how to reason with educated, not apathetic, agnostics. Or I wasted two hours...I don't know. Nonetheless, a world view wake-up.

I have to explain the Kingdom of God in twenty minutes tonight.

Yesterday, I saw a woman eat it hard on a bike. I'll write about that soon.

I just laughed.

Scott comes home on Wednesday, and then I go to Boston in about two weeks.

I'm not really sure how I feel about John Travolta right now.

We're short-staffed at church.

God is good.

Friday, February 29, 2008

Too Excited To Sleep

This is sometimes what youth ministry is all about.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

The Loadstone

I was a rock star.

I wasn’t just any rock star, I was young and was going to take over the record industry one way or another. I was asked to play lead guitar in a band with three seniors in high school. Yes, I was…hot, to say the least. I joined this illustrious team of shredders and we deemed ourselves to be called, “LOADSTONE.” The name spawned from a discovery in a science class about a theory held by some scientists. The theory was around a mystic rock (the Loadstone) that everything on earth was attracted toward. A squirrel is attracted to the Loadstone, a snowflake is attracted to the Loadstone, humans are attracted to the Loadstone. We were Loadstone. The center of all, everything was attracted to us. Our first gig was a smash success as we performed on the back of an 18-wheeler in the Tigard High School parade. I remember passing by small children with painted faces screaming for more as they clutched their balloon animals; moms and dads sitting in lawn chairs gazing up at the Loadstone. That’s right, I thought, welcome to the Loadstone. I was in eighth grade playing in a high school parade. Lead guitar. With such a smash hit first gig, we thought, we can take this thing to the streets. So we planned our second gig, playing in the backyard of our bassists house. Yeah, we invited everyone. All shall come to the Loadstone. There will be animals of all species, insects and mammals. Not to mention the vast array of high school ladies that would flock to hear the Stone rock the suburbs.

The greatest disappointment of my life came that evening at around six when not a soul showed up. We drew a few neighbors when we started playing, and you know what, our bassists mom loved the show! It was way worth it to see Mrs. Jumago smile and clap along to our kickin’ version of “Proud Mary.” Yes, we were Loadstone.

But that night as I packed things up and my dad came and picked me up out in the 'burbs, I realized that I am in fact not the Loadstone, and really was not nor ever will be the center of the universe. And while Mrs. Jumago was impressed, the neighbors were not.

Friday, February 1, 2008

Gosh, Finally!

I've been waiting for this information my whole life. Thank you, yet again, Yahoo! News.

I love how doctors spend their time. I guess I just don't understand...meh.

Religion and Narcissism [Part 2]

Again, this is the opposite idea of Christ. In Christianity, in true and authentic Christ-following YOU DO NOTHING. The scriptural and biblical Christian has done absolutely nothing to achieve the salvation (or saving) of their soul (Ephesians 2:1-10, 1 Corinthians 6:11, Romans 9:16). Christ says, "take my yoke, it's easy." Why? Not because following him is easy (ironically it's more difficult than a bunch of works), but because he does all the work. What do we do? Our job is simply complex and easily difficult. We must put all of us into him (Mark 8:34-35). Not an ounce of ourselves can be kept in what we have done. We cannot serve ourselves, we must serve him, we cannot think of our good, but of his good. How does this flush out practically? In our neighbor. Since, theologically, Christ is in us, we are to love our neighbor, the second of the greatest commandment. There is no room for ourselves, because if we completely devote our lives to Christ, the puzzle piece fits, the pennies drop, and life is completely abundant. We are filled. None of the commandments of Christ speak of loving yourself, because this life is not about you. So, strangely, we are satisfied and growing when we put our desires on God and others. Then, if everyone is focused on others and God, don't you think you'll be alright?

I definitely do not think that searching for your own happiness is a sin. I believe God wants us to be happy, undoubtedly. However, when we speak of words like "joy" and "fulfillment" or "happiness," I believe we cannot reach the heights of joy and the depths of fulfillment without follow this Jesus revealed in the Bible.

Thursday, January 31, 2008

Religion and Narcissism [Part 1]

In your life, you have two options. You can serve yourself, or be free of yourself. You can choose something bigger, or you can choose you.

So let's build on that.

There are many ways in which you can serve only yourself. I don't think I have to go into much detail on this because I think we can all agree on carnal or selfish desires (which completely proves moral objectivity and even absolute truth, but that's another entry); hoarding money, vanity, sexual lust, pride, arrogance, you get the picture. I haven't met anyone who has told me they believe they have never done anything wrong, and when I inquire people about why they believe they did something wrong, it always has to do with hurting someone else in an effort to elevate their own selfish reputation.

But then the other option is what, religion? Charity? Service? No. You see, because even these things are selfish. I've been thinking a lot about this and I believe religion could be the most selfish thing you could do. Why? Because you are given control. I was reading a book by a former Muslim, now atheist, and she said that being a Muslim was much easier than being an atheist for a couple reasons, but namely for the reason that she could control her salvation and control her life. If she did things required of her, if she observed days of rest, and prayed a certain amount of times a day, it was assured that she would be in Paradise. However, she noticed that her selfishness is the same as an atheist. She served herself in her religion, and furthermore serves herself as an atheist. Let me put it this way, She didn't need a God to save her. She only needed herself. God gave her these rules, and said, "if you do them, you're in." But now, confused as ever, she plays the same game as an atheist, just with no hope of an afterlife or help in this one.

Let me define religion: Religion is, as Dr. Tim Keller has always said, "if I obey, I am loved." Religion requires the person doing something. But in the end, my question is this: what's God role? To love? But he only loves if I obey certain rules...so if I don't obey, he doesn't love, and he doesn't have a role, except perhaps judgment after my life is over. To me, it sounds deistic. God set fourth rules and said, "there you go, good luck." There is no need for him. So in the end, religion won't get you freedom, but just a more complex version of narcissism. You're serving yourself in order to get yourself to heaven.

I believe that only through this Jesus is where we find true freedom, and complete selflessness; the way we are created to be. You see, Christ preached against all of the above. He says, "I love you first, so because of my great love, how could you not obey?" His message is the same one we get from all of creation: YOU ARE SMALL AND GOD IS KING. Look at it this way, no one has ever stood in front of the Grand Canyon and said, "Yup, I'm a pretty great guy...I'm a big deal." That just doesn't happen. Why? Because you weren't created to be the best, you weren't created to be in charge of everything. Therefore, since we are so small, we were not meant to save ourselves and not meant to bring everything to a close. We were meant to reflect a bigger picture, a larger idea, and more magnificent Creator.

So how does Christ offer freedom? What's different about Jesus? Don't you just have to obey and get past things?